Please Make It Go Away
by irishgirl325
Summary: A story in which Sherlock and John find a teenager who wants nothing more than love and friendship. Future Sherlock/Molly pairing WARNING: self-harm fic, possible triggers
1. Chapter 1

I was running. I was running away from life, from the pain, from the nightmares that seemed to constantly plague my sleep, whenever I was lucky enough to beat my insomnia for a few hours. I never stayed in one place for too long, and rarely talked to people. I slept on park benches, and ate only a few times a week. I never was really hungry anyways. I had managed to avoid the police who would probably be suspicious of a 15 year old out on the streets by herself. My social interaction mostly consisted of the occasional shopping trip to get necessities and using public restrooms. Other than that I kept to myself. It's not that I was homeless or anything. Alright, I suppose I am homeless, but it's not because I was kicked out, or don't have enough money or anything like that. I ran away from my home about three months ago.

My mom and dad got divorced a year ago, and I hated my dad. Four months ago, my mom and I were in a car crash. She died on impact, and I was hospitalized for a week. I suffered a minor concussion, and several bruised ribs. After I was released from the hospital, my dad made me go see a shrink, which only increased my distain of him, and was diagnosed with PTSD (post-traumatic stress disorder) and depression. Every night I would go in my room and lay on my bed to think. My brain works differently than most peoples' do. I notice the little details about someone and I think faster than I can handle. Sometimes it gets so bad that it hurts and makes me want to scream in agony. I think of everything I have ever done wrong and dwell on things I shouldn't. There was no end to my constant suffering, no matter what I did. I left a month after my mom's funeral and went to go live in the one place I had always wanted to live. London.

After stealing some money from my dad, and gathering everything I wanted to take in a backpack, I hailed a cab to take me to the airport. The cabbie jabbered on constantly about this and that, although I wasn't really listening. When I got to the airport, I bought a ticket for the soonest departing flight which was in half an hour. I got through security and quickly ran to the bathroom. I had been having panic attacks since I was little, and could feel one coming on. I went in one of the stalls just as the violent shaking started. Taking in deep breaths, I tried to block out all the noise by putting my hands over my ears but to no avail. A toilet flushed and my heart began to race. When a baby started to cry, it pushed me over the edge.

I couldn't see straight, and my head was spinning. A wave of nausea washed over me and I turned toward the toilet as the remains of what my dad had forced me to eat for dinner last night made a reappearance. I gagged and reached over to pull a piece of toilet paper from the roll to wipe my mouth with. When I stopped feeling like I was going to vomit again, I reached up and flushed all of it away. I pulled myself up to sit on the seat and reached in my bag for my headphones and iPod. I squinted and tried to control the shaking as I attempted to plug the headphones in the jack. After a few tries, I finally got them to click in place and scrolled through my music to find the songs that calmed me down. Most of them had a piano, guitar, or violin accompanied by a soft voice. I turned up the volume and leaned my back up against the wall. I focused on the music taking over my head, and took deep breaths. After a few minutes, I was back under control and opened my eyes. I pulled the headphones from my ears and shoved them and the iPod back in my bag. I opened the stall and walked to the sink to clean myself up. The bathroom was buzzing with women, so I quickly fixed my hair and the lines made by my dark eyeliner and tears. I rubbed a hand over the back of my neck and sighed.

As I exited the bathroom, I pulled a piece of gum from my pocket in an attempt to make the vomit taste that lingered in my mouth go away. I was still shaking, but not as bad. I glanced down at my watch to see the time just as a women's voice boomed on the speakers, "Flight 103 for London boarding now." "Shit," I muttered and began jogging to the gate. I made it just in time to get board the plane, and as I walked down the aisle, found my seat and breathed a sigh of relief that it was a window seat. I reached up to throw my bag in the overhead compartment, but not without grabbing my iPod back out. Unfortunately, due to my small size, I couldn't quite get it in and huffed in annoyance. "Excuse me sir?" I said to the man sitting behind me. "Um I can't quite reach," I said nodding to the compartment.

He chuckled and said, "Of course!" He stood up and took my bag to put it away, and smiled again.

"Thanks a ton!" I said with a smile and sat back down. Throughout the flight I dozed on and off thankful that there was nobody else in the seats next to me. To my surprise, this wasn't a very full flight. When we landed, the man was kind enough to get my bag down without me asking him. I smiled and thanked him again before exiting the plane. Keeping my head down, I walked through the airport and exited into the cool air. I just began walking and just never stopped. I was so happy to see all of the things I had only dreamt about seeing like Big Ben and Parliament.

So that is how I ended up here, on a park bench at three o'clock in the morning staring at my hand. Clenched in my fist was a tool, a weapon, whatever you want to call it. It was a razor blade. My stomach churned as I tried to fight the feeling of dependency on the small metal object that I turned over and over again in my hand. It was beautiful and disgusting at the same time. I sighed and leaned my head back over the bench. I knew exactly what was going to happen, as it happened every single night. I would debate about whether to use it or not, and would give in to the temptation. I would roll up my sleeves or my pants and begin the task of removing myself from the present. This is exactly how it happened. I groaned and began to roll up my sleeves revealing my secret life. Scars littered the skin and red lines crisscrossed over blue veins. I always started out with just light scratches, but somehow it wouldn't be enough and soon I was cutting deeper and deeper. I reveled in the blood that slowly seeped out and began to drip down my arm. I breathed a sigh of relief at the pain. It would take me away from the pain, and slow down my thinking a bit. It was wonderful. I put my blade bag in the same bag I had carried with me for months carefully hidden inside a sock. I curled up on the bench and cried myself to sleep. I despised myself for letting it get this far.

"Hurry John, we're losing him!" I woke up to see a man dressed in black running down the sidewalk followed by a tall man in an overcoat, and a smaller man trailing behind him. I stood up to make a hasty retreat like I normally do whenever anybody was coming towards me, but I was still groggy from actually sleeping last night, and was not quick enough this time. The man in black reached me, and pulled me away from the bench roughly by my arm, and wrapped his arm around my neck. "Let me go!" I cried.

"Stop struggling!" he hissed in my ear and held a gun to my temple. I could feel a panic attack coming on and tried really hard to not let it overtake me. I glanced up to see the other two men standing in front of me, both holding guns. "Drop your guns boys!" the man holding me said, "or I shoot her," he said as he released the safety on the gun. The shorter man lowered his gun and put up his hands up as he stood, but the taller man did nothing. "Sherlock, put it down," he said.

"Listen to John, Sherlock, or you will have her blood on your hands," said my captor. I whimpered and prayed that the man named Sherlock would listen and as if on cue, he lowered the gun and gave the man holding me a look that honestly made me fear him worse than the gun being held against my temple.

"Let her go Seb," the Sherlock said. "She has nothing to do with your battle against John and I." I heard tires screech and all four of us turned our heads to see a black car pull up on the street next to us. "Fine Sherlock," Seb said with a chuckle. "If you want her, here she is!" He said as he pulled out a syringe, and pushed it into my neck, and then pushed me towards Sherlock roughly. "My ride is here," he yelled over his shoulder as he ran and jumped into the car that hastily disappeared around the corner.

Sherlock caught me and helped to stand me up as John came up and put a hand on my shoulder. "Are you alright honey?" he asked worriedly. "I'm, I'm fine." I struggled to say as I collapsed into John's arms and then everything went black.


	2. Chapter 2

When I woke up, I was underneath a very big blanket and laying on a couch it a cozy room. There was a fire burning and looking around, I saw Sherlock looking out the window and playing a violin. I smiled to myself because the mere sound of it seemed to calm me down right away. John was sitting in a chair on one side of the fireplace and typing away on a laptop. I sat up and pushed the blanket away. "Oh!" said John seeing that I was awake. "Good morning to you. You seemed to have worn off your drugs."

"My drugs?" I asked confusedly and groggily.

"What do you remember about today?" John asked me as he walked over to sit next to me on the couch.

"I remember you two and a man named Seb I think it was, running towards me. Seb grabbed me and threatened me. Then he left. Why am I here?" I asked. "Oh my gosh, where is my bag?" I began to panic and stood up suddenly.

"Relax," said John standing up and grabbing my arm. "Calm down, it is right here," he said leaning down to pick up my backpack and handed it to me. "Now, why don't you tell me your name? I'm John Watson, and this is Sherlock Holmes," he said gesturing to the man with the violin. At this Sherlock looked over toward us and stopped playing for the first time since I had awoken and nodded at me.

"I'm Amy," I said quietly. "Where am I?"

"Hi Amy, nice to meet you," John said. "When Seb left, he drugged you and you fainted. We took you here, to our flat. Well, Sherlock's flat. I used to live here, but I got married." He paused. "Do you want to tell us why you were all alone, sleeping on a park bench?"

I didn't know what to say and looked down at my sleeves, which I self-consciously pulled down even further. At this, Sherlock set down the violin, and strode over to us on long legs. "Isn't it obvious John?" he asked. "Young American, asleep on a park bench, recently suffered a loss, and is now on the run. She suffers from insomnia judging by the dark circles under her eyes. Has money to buy clothes, food, and hygienic products and is well taken care of, but chooses to live on the street. Possibly this is because she fears having to go back to where she came from, possibly because she has social anxiety, maybe even both."

"What are you a private investigator or something?" I asked sarcastically.

"Consulting detective," He answered calmly.

John shot Sherlock a look, and he walked dejectedly back to the chair where he set his violin and resumed the song. "Ignore him, he can be, umm, brutally honest sometimes."

Sherlock rolled his eyes in response and I cracked a smile. "Now, do you want to tell us about yourself sweetie?"

"No, not really, you will take me to the police and they will make me go home. I don't want to go back, so if you don't mind, I will be going now. Thank you for taking care of me," I said standing up.

"Wait," said John, "we won't turn you over to the police. You have my word."

The look in his eyes made me trust him wholeheartedly, and so whether it was in my best interest or not, I sat back down. "Please tell us about yourself, and we can help you."

"Um, well I told you my name was Amy. Four months ago, my mom died. My parents are, well, were divorced. I went to live with my dad and I hate him. He is a jerk, and drinks too much. I hated living with him, so I ran away. I have been living here for three months."

"Do you have a home?" asked John concernedly.

"Whatever park bench is comfortable that night," I shrugged.

John furrowed his brow and shifted on the chair. He pursed his lips momentarily, and then asked, "Do you want to live here?"

"WHAT?!" Sherlock and I asked at the same time.

"Jesus, calm down!" John said "you would have thought I just asked you two to help me rob the bloody Bank of England." He shot Sherlock a warning look when he opened his mouth to protest. "You could take my old room upstairs and you would have a place to stay with good cooking from Mrs. Hudson, our landlady, and you won't have to worry because we will not make you go back to your father. I promise."

I didn't know what to say, I was so taken aback. I wanted so badly to say yes, but I was scared. They seemed nice enough, but then again that is what most girls say about men right before they are kidnapped and sold into the sex market. The desire to sleep in a bed and be in a home again was so great that I meekly asked, "Are you sure Mr. Watson?"

"Please, call me John, and I am quite sure," he said with a smile and he patted my shoulder.

"And are you sure Mr. Holmes?" I asked turning to look at the tall man playing the violin.

"It's Sherlock," he mumbled and said after a second, "Yes, you can stay here, it will be nice to talk to someone besides my skull again."

"What?" I asked in astonishment, and looked over at John. He pointed to the human skull on the mantelpiece and shook his head.

"Don't even ask," he said. "You will get used to the interestingness that comes with being Sherlock's flat mate." I giggled in response. He smiled and stood up, slapping his hands on his knees as he did so. "Well grab your bag, and I will show you to your new room.

"Alright," I said thankfully and pulled the backpack that I had been holding in my lap over my shoulder. We walked up the stairs and the creaked under my feet as we ascended to the room at the top of the stairs. When we entered the room I saw a bed sitting in the corner with a nightstand next to is. There was a closet to my left and a dresser next to the nightstand. To my right, under a window, was a small desk with books on top. I lovingly ran my finger over the spines and smiles. Books were so dear to me and I loved to read, but was not able to take any books with me when I ran. That made me almost as happy as the bed. John sat on the bed and smiled when he noticed me studying the books.

"You like to read?" he asked.

"Oh I adore it! I have missed books so very much," I sighed.

He chuckled and said, "Well you will enjoy talking to Sherlock then. He is almost as entertaining as reading a novel."

"No offense to him John, but I highly doubt it," I replied. "There is no comparison to being lost in the words that are so beautifully put together creating a completely different universe."

"You really do love reading don't you?" he smiled.

I turned around when I heard a knock at the door and turned around to see an elderly lady poking her head in the door. "Hello," she said with a smile. "Sherlock told me that he had a young lady staying with us now and I just had to come meet her." She walked over to me and embraced me in a hug. She smelt of good food and perfume. I hugged her back and giggled.

"Hi, I'm Amy!" I said and waved my hand slightly.

"I'm Mrs. Hudson, your landlady, but not your housekeeper as these two would have you believe," she said jutting her thumb over at John who grinned like a little boy who was being scolded. "Well let's get a good look at you," she said as she held me back and studied me. "We need to get some food in you young lady," she said and tutted. "Do you like anything in particular for dinner? I will make whatever sounds good for your first night with us, and we will have Mary over too! Oh yes!" she said clapping her hands together. "So what will it be?" she asked excitedly.

"Um, spaghetti please?" I asked.

"Spaghetti it is!" she cried and walked off down the stairs.

I laughed and said, "I like her!"

"Yes, we all do!" he chuckled. "Sherlock once almost killed a man for threatening her.

"Question, who is Mary?" I asked.

"Mary would be my beautiful wife," John answered with a smile.

"Oh," I replied. "I would very much like to meet her!"

"Well you will get to at dinner! I should probably get back to her and tell her that we will be coming over tonight, I will let you get settled in and read a book," he smiled. "Sherlock will be downstairs and Mrs. Hudson is on the ground floor if you need anything." He stood up and began to walk out of the room.

"John?" I said when he reached the door.

"Yes Amy?" he asked.

"Just, um, thank you so much…for everything."

"Oh Amy," he smiled and walked over to me wrapping his arms around me in a hug. "You are very welcome." He left the room and I walked over and sat on the bed next to my backpack. It was strange, I had only known him for a few hours, but I trusted him, and even Sherlock who intimated me, so much and I felt as if I had known them for years.

I unpacked everything that I had from my backpack and placed it on the bed. It included three long sleeve shirts, one pair of pants (not the ones I was wearing of course), four pairs of underwear, two pairs of socks (one which held my razor), a toothbrush and tube of toothpaste, some dental floss, a small bottle of shampoo, and one of conditioner, a hairbrush, a shaving razor, one liquid eyeliner, a picture of my mother, my iPod, headphones, and charger. I had been charging it at McDonalds whenever I possibly could. I was wearing jeans, a long sleeve shirt, my only bra, underwear, socks and black converse as well as my watch. That was all that I had in my possession. I placed all of the clothes in the dresser drawers besides the shirts which I hung in the closet. I stepped back and laughed at how dismally bare it looked with only three lonely shirts.

I collected the shampoo, conditioner, and shaving razor, as well as a change of clothes in which I concealed my razor. I was in need of a "fix", as I had not had one since last night. Scooping all of it up, I walked down stairs and found Sherlock had moved from playing the violin and was now sitting at the dinner table hunched over a microscope. Next to him was what looked like a jar of eyeballs. "Are those HUMAN eyeballs?" I asked in disbelief.

"Yes, as a matter of fact, they are. Any more stupidly obvious questions?"

"Yeah, where in the world did you get human eyeballs?"

"From the morgue, my friend Molly is a pathologist there," he answered in a bored tone.

"One more question," I said.

He didn't look up from the microscope but raised his eyebrows as if to say, "And that is?"

"May I use the shower?" I asked.

This time he did look up and said, "You know you don't need to ask me to use the shower. You live here now."

"I have only lived here for an hour. It has been your place much longer than me."

Sherlock furrowed his brow and said, "Yes, you can use the shower it is right through there," he said pointing through the kitchen. It's the door on the left. The one on right is my bedroom."

"Thanks, Sherlock," I said as I walked towards the bathroom. I could feel Sherlock's eyes burning into the back of my head and when I reached the bathroom door, I turned around and shot him a questioning glance.

I caught a glimpse of his face which looked worried before he quickly looked back down to the microscope. I shut the door to the bathroom and turned the shower on. Soon the room was full of steam and it cleared my head. I stripped down and sat on the closed toilet turning my razor over and over again in the palm of my hand. If Sherlock and John only knew what kind of horrible person I am. They could never ever find out, or they would throw me out for sure, or worse, send me back to my dad. The thought was so awful, that tears sprang to my eyes. I wiped them away so that I could see what I was doing. When I slipped the metal against my skin, I sighed. There was nothing that compared to the feeling of the cool blade for a moment, followed by the hot sticky blood. After a few minor cuts on my right arm, I moved to my left arm where I could inflict the real damage. They began to get deeper and deeper, but I was careful to avoid any of my large veins as I would rather not have to have Sherlock come find me naked on the bathroom floor in a pool of my own blood.

Soon, my arms were too abused to inflict any more damage. I moved to my thighs, which is a rarity. I save them for when I am particularly upset as I am right now. I loathed myself more and more with each stroke of the blade. When my legs were finished I sat for a moment trying to catch my breath. All of this had taken about six or seven minutes, so I had to hurry up and get in the shower. When I climbed in, the blood on my arms was dry, but my legs were still bleeding. The hot water stung as it washed away the sticky mess. By the time I finished washing my hair, the bleeding had stopped so that I was able to do a quick shave of my legs, careful to avoid the new cuts as they could bleed again very easily.

I held my arms out and looked at the scars littering them. Some were jagged and white, some were perfect cuts that were only red lines. There were various stages of them, from my fresh ones, to the scars from my very first few bad cuts. My thighs were worse than my legs, as the cuts that were inflicted there were very deep, and none of them healed without leaving scars. I sighed and turned to turn off the shower, and pulled a towel down from the shelves above the toilet. After wrapping myself in it, I stepped out back on the rug in front of the shower. I glanced at the toilet and saw that some blood had dripped onto the porcelain and the tile surrounding it. I grabbed some toilet paper and knelt to wipe it up. I flushed the bloody paper away, and began to dry off.

After I was dry enough, I pulled on my clothes, and folded the dirty ones, concealing my blade inside. I wiped down the mirror and quickly added more eyeliner, darkening my eyes. I heaved another sigh and gathered all of my belongings in my arms and left the bathroom. Sherlock had not moved from the dining table and was still hunched over the microscope, muttering to himself. He didn't even notice me, so I just went up to my room without saying anything. I put my blade back in my socks, and put the dirty clothes in a basket in the closet that I assumed was a hamper. The shampoo, conditioner, eyeliner, and shaving razor went on a shelf in the closet, and I draped the wet towel over the back of the chair that sat at the desk after running it over my head one more time. I walked over to the side table where I had set the hairbrush and my mom's picture. I grabbed the brush and attempted to free my brown hair of the tangles that constantly plagued me.

I turned on the lamp sitting next to the picture, and walked back to the desk. After looking through the books, I found that they included _Julius Ceaser, 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea, The Iliad, Kidnapped, and The Count of Monte Cristo_. I decided on _The Iliad_, even though I had read it numerous times. Then again though, I had read all of them at least once. I loved books, but old books especially had a special place in my heart. I plopped down on the bed and stretched out. It felt good to be showered, and laying on a bed with a book. I began to read, and before I knew it, I had fallen into the familiar story with characters that I had met hundreds of times.


	3. Chapter 3

I didn't even hear anybody enter my room, I was so immersed in my book. "Knock, knock," said a nice sounding voice. I looked up to see a pretty woman with short blonde hair and a sweet smile enter my room. "Hi there, I'm Mary, John's wife. You must be Amy, the latest addition to Baker Street." She walked over to sit on the bed next to me. Her protruding belly told me that she was pregnant and I smiled to myself. John would make a good father.

"Hi, yeah I'm Amy," I smiled and waved. She plopped down next to me and glanced at the book that I had lying face down on the bed.

"Ahh, Homer," she said and chuckled. "I always preferred _The Odyssey _over _The Iliad_ myself. Paris just annoys me," she chuckled to herself. I laughed along with her.

"Yeah, I do too, but I have slim pickings," I said as I gestured over to the books on my desk.

"Well Sherlock has plenty more books than that my dear. Just ask him about borrowing some when you finish this one. He will be more than happy to oblige, as long as you don't dog-ear any pages." I smiled because that was one of my worst pet peeves ever. Maybe Sherlock wasn't as intimidating as I thought, and just had a hard time around people like I did. "And if he doesn't let you borrow any," Mary continued, "he will have to answer to me!" she punched her fist into the palm of her other hand and laughed again. She had a really nice laugh, and I smiled at her. I could tell that I liked her right away. "Anyhoo, I was sent up here by Mrs. Hudson to retrieve you. Dinner is served. I heard that you ordered spaghetti. Good choice!" I stood up and Mary attempted to do the same but fell back on the bed holding her belly and chuckling. "Mind giving me a hand," she asked.

"Sure thing," I laughed and pulled her up to stand next to me.

"Thanks! Now why don't we go get some of that spaghetti?" We made our way down the stairs and entered the living room. John was sitting in the chair to the left of the fire again and reading over a file that was resting in his lap. Mary walked over and sat on the arm or the chair, and put her arm around his shoulder. John looked up and smiled at her. I walked over and sat in the chair across from him earning me a look from Sherlock. This must be HIS chair. Well I wouldn't be sitting there again.

"I see you have met Mary. Isn't she beautiful?" John said before he leaned over and kissed Mary's belly.

I giggled when Mary smacked him playfully and answered, "Yes, she is very beautiful." Mary smiled at me. I heard glass shatter and looked up to see Sherlock leaning down to pick something up in the kitchen. I walked over to him and heard him mumbling to himself. "Need any help?" I asked.

"Mrs. Hudson is making me move all of my things off of the table," he said annoyed. "I knocked over a petri dish in the process." He went to pick up the last piece of glass and sliced his thumb on it. "Shit!" he exclaimed and shook it in pain.

"Here, let me help," I offered and helped him to the sink where he held his thumb under the running water. While he did that, I scooped up the glass and threw it in the trash can. I went back to the bathroom and pulled a box of Band-Aids out from under the sink and brought them back to the kitchen. By now the bleeding had stopped and I wiped the remains of it away and dried his finger with a towel. Carefully, I wrapped the Band-Aid around it and finished with, "Viola!"

"Nurse Amy to the rescue!" exclaimed John when he walked in the room earning a smile from me. "Hey, you're pretty good with blood there. Most girls are pretty squeamish."

"You have no idea," I murmured under my breath.

"What's that?" John asked.

"Hm? Oh, nothing, just thinking out loud," I said shaking my head.

"Thanks for that," Sherlock said quietly as he continued to clear away papers, and such from the table.

"Don't mind him," said John nodding towards Sherlock. "He is trying, but has a hard time talking to people he doesn't know very well."

"It's ok, neither do I," I replied with a smile. John smiled back, then went and scooped up the microscope from the table, and the remaining folders, and carried them to the desk on the other side of the room. "I'm going to go see if Mrs. Hudson needs any help," I announced to nobody in particular, and walked downstairs to Mrs. Hudson's flat.

I knocked on the door and heard a, "Come in!" from inside, and so I pushed open the door and walked in. I made my way to the kitchen where Mrs. Hudson was scurrying around and stirring pots on the stove. "Oh, Amy it's you! Do you need something?"

"No, actually I came down here to ask you the same question. It smells amazing in here," I said as she pulled out some garlic bread from the oven.

"Oh dearie, that would be most appreciated! Will you be a doll and bring this and that salad over there up stairs?" She asked handing me the bread which she had put on a bread plate. "I will bring up the spaghetti." She grabbed the great big pot off of the stove by its handles and followed me after I picked up the salad that was sitting on the table in a bowl with my free hand.

When we got back upstairs, Mary was setting the table and John and Sherlock were studying the file that John had been reading earlier. "Wow that is some good smelling food!" Mary exclaimed when we came in the door. I set the bread and salad on the table, and Mrs. Hudson placed the spaghetti pot on the stove.

"Will you be a doll and bring me the plates so that I can serve them up here and avoid all the mess of doing it at the table?" she asked Mary.

"You betcha," said Mary as I helped her to gather the plates, and bring the full ones back to the table. When we had finished, John and Sherlock stepped away from their folder and came to sit down. Sherlock sat at the head of the table with me on his right and Mrs. Hudson next to me. To his left, John sat with Mary at his side.

I leaned down to take a bite, just as John asked me, "So Amy, how old are you exactly?" Noticing that I was chewing he laughed and apologized.

When I had finished, I answered, "I turned fifteen last month on the 22nd."

"No kidding?" Mary said. "That is my birthday too! Of course, I didn't turn fifteen." This earned a laugh from all of us except Sherlock who had sat unamused, fiddling with the spaghetti on his plate.

"So John, what did you think of the case?" Sherlock suddenly said looking to the man on his left.

John wiped his mouth with his napkin before answering, "Well you are right, the man was dead long before he was shot. I figure he had probably been poisoned a few hours before, and then was shot with Barney Smith's gun in order to frame him." Sherlock nodded his head but didn't say anything.

"Boys, do we really have to talk about murder at the dinner table?" asked Mrs. Hudson.

"Mrs. Hudson, this is the only time besides holidays that we have ever sat at this table to eat dinner," Sherlock pointed out. Mrs. Hudson sighed and shook her head. Mary reached over and patted her arm but smiled to herself, obviously amused.

"So what exactly does a consulting detective do?" I asked, genuinely curious.

"I am the person that the police come to when they are out of their league, which is always." Sherlock replied.

"And you help him?" I said to John.

"Yes, and then I blog about it."

"Really? Well I will have to read said blog someday."

"Oh God, I hope you don't." Sherlock moaned. "John is too much of a storyteller."

"There is nothing wrong with including the details," John responded.

"Until the details are painstakingly irrelevant," Sherlock said in annoyance.

"He's just mad because one time I posted that he didn't know that the Earth goes around the Sun," John whispered at me.

"You don't know that the Earth goes around the Sun?" I asked in disbelief.

"Does it really matter?" Sherlock said rolling his eyes.

"But is elementary school stuff!" I laughed.

"That's what I said!" John said joining in on my laughter.

When dinner was over, I helped Mrs. Hudson clear the table. "Did it not taste good dear? You didn't eat very much," she remarked.

"No, no! It was delicious! I'm just not that hungry," I assured her. When John and Mary left, Mrs. Hudson followed as she complained about her leg. We thanked her for dinner, and I walked her downstairs. When I came back, Sherlock was sitting in his chair with his eyes closed and hands h=under his chin. "I will do the dishes," I said.

"Do you want help?" he asked without opening his eyes, or moving at all for that matter.

"No, I can manage," I replied.

"Alright then," she said standing up suddenly. "I am going to go take a shower then."

As I worked on the dishes, I sang quietly to myself, trying not to think too much on any one thing. Just as I was drying the last few plates, Sherlock's deep voice behind me said, "You have a nice voice."

"Thanks," I muttered embarrassed as I could feel my cheeks flush. "I didn't know you were standing there. How was your shower?"

"Refreshing, thanks." He had changed into a t-shirt and pajama pants and was running a towel over his damp, curly hair. He yawned.

"Uh, Sherlock…" I started.

"Yes?"

"I don't have any pajamas to sleep in," I admitted.

"Um, follow me." We walked into his room. It was simple, with a bed, dresser and a few science posters here and there. He reached into a drawer and pulled out sweatpants and a rather large t-shirt,. The front of it read 'I don't understand' and the back said 'I still don't understand'. I raised my eyebrows questioningly, but he just shook his head. "Birthday present from John. It's a joke from one of our cases. They will be big but they will work until Mary can take you shopping."

"Thank you Sherlock." I said as I left his room. I went back upstairs to my own room to change. I pulled the sweatpants on, wincing as I banged my thigh. I also pulled the t-shirt on, but didn't remove my long-sleeved shirt underneath. The pant I had to fold over three or four times for me to even walk in them without tripping. The drawstring was pulled very tight, causing the fabric to bunch together around the waistband. The shirt dropped all the way to my knees and hung loosely off my shoulders. I looked pretty ridiculous.

When I came back downstairs, Sherlock was playing the violin again, but stopped when I came down. He turned around and chuckled when he saw me drowning in his clothes. "You are rather small aren't you?" he asked in amusement.

"Well you are rather tall," I answered.

"Touché."

"Well I am going to bed now. Goodnight Amy."

"Goodnight Sherlock. Thanks for everything." He smiled and patted my shoulder as he walked by me. After he disappeared into the kitchen, I walked over to the bookshelf and began my same routine of lovingly stroking the spines of the books with my index finger, just as if they were old friends. My finger suddenly came to a rest on a copy of a Shakespeare compilation. I started shaking, but removed the book from the shelf anyways. I flipped through the pages until I had reached a familiar story. _Romeo and Juliet_ stared back at me from the page as the tears began to fall. This was my mom's favorite. She had read it to me countless times, and I had seen every film rendition of it ever created. The shaking started to get worse, and I couldn't see straight anymore.

I knew what was coming and slid the book back just as I sunk to the floor. The world began to spin, and my head was hurting. The tears were coming faster and faster, and I bit my lip trying to avoid making any noise. My iPod was all the way upstairs, and I couldn't even see straight, let alone walk up a flight of stairs. Blood began filling my mouth and I tried to not bite so hard on my lip.

"Amy I forgot my pho-….Amy?" Sherlock came out of his room to find me curled up on the floor in the middle of an anxiety attack. Great. Now he was aware that he was living with a mentally unstable person. I could have died right then and there. "Are you alright?" Sherlock asked, not quite knowing what to do. When he didn't receive an answer, he came and sat down next to me and began to stroke my back gently, as if he was afraid he would hurt me. He leaned forward and ever so gently, pulled me up next to him, hesitating at first, but following through when I made no attempt of resisting. He held me and stroked me awkwardly until the attack died down.

I wiped the tears away and sat up. Sherlock removed his arm from my back and looked at me concerned. "I'm sorry Sherlock. I understand if you want me to move out."

"Why would I want you to move out? Because you had an anxiety attack? That is no reason for you to go anywhere Amy. Hell, John once walked in on me shooting the wall out of boredom, and never once questioned my living with him."

"You shot the wall?" I sniffed.

"Yep," he said and pointed to the wall where a yellow smiley face was spray painted, and bullet holes traced the outline of it. I smiled and wiped my nose. Sherlock was definitely not as intimidating as I thought.

I sighed and said, "Well I suppose I should go to sleep."

"Sleep? You suffer from insomnia. You would not go upstairs and sleep. You would go up there and start to think and that would lead you to have another attack. I can't sleep either, so why don't we just go sit on the couch and talk?"

"How do you know I have insomnia?"

"You have dark circles under your eyes and yawn continuously. You obviously have anxiety, and depression. All are factors of, and results of insomnia. Plus, my homeless network said that they have rarely seen you sleep when I asked about you."

"Homeless network?"

"My connections throughout the city."

"Oh. Well can we move to the couch then?" Sherlock stood and then helped me up, making sure that I was steady before letting go of my elbow. He sat down and I plopped down next to him. We adjusted and I leaned over and put my head on his shoulder. He stiffened, but didn't reject. Then slowly he put his arm around my shoulder and stroked it. I trusted this man so much, and only after a day. It honestly scared me, but I wasn't about to complain. I liked to have someone to rely on. "Will you tell me about the case you are working on?"

Sherlock began to talk, and quite quickly. I only listened for a few minutes before I got really sleepy. Slowly, his melodious words started slurring together and my eyelids got really heavy. After a moment, he stopped talking and looked down at me. He shifted over so that he was sitting all the way at the edge of the couch and laid me down on the couch so that I was lengthwise with my head on a pillow that was propped against his knee. Finally he grabbed the blanket that I woke up wrapped in, and draped it over us. He propped his elbow on the arm of the couch, put his head on it, and yawned. "Goodnight Amy," he mumbled.

"Goodnight Sherlock," I whispered and slowly let myself drift off into the best sleep I had had in ages.


	4. Chapter 4

When I woke up, Sherlock had already removed himself from the couch and was sitting at the dinner table talking to John and Mary it sounded like. I was about to get up and stretch when I heard Sherlock say my name, and I froze. I didn't move, and pretended like I was still asleep. I wanted badly to listen to what they were saying.

"It was weird, I have never seen anybody have that bad of an attack. I felt so helpless watching her."

"What do you think triggered it?" asked John.

"I have no clue, I was just coming back into the room to get my phone when I found her on the floor, curled up, crying, and shaking violently. At first I didn't even think she knew I was in the same room with her."

"Poor girl," murmured Mary sadly.

Sherlock sighed, "I wish I knew what was wrong so that I could help her. There is something worse than anxiety and depression going on. I can tell."

"How?" John asked curiously.

"It's like she is afraid of her own shadow. She apologizes constantly, and is very…I don't know. Yesterday though, she was very intent on asking me about using the shower even though I told her she didn't have to ask."

"Do you think she is scared of going back on the street?" Mary asked after a moment of silence.

"Possibly," replied John. "Hey, she said that her mom passed away right?"

"Yeah, as a matter of fact, she did. Why?"

"Post-Traumatic Stress! I had it when I came back from Afghanistan," said John. "She has all the symptoms. Anxiety, insomnia, constant fear of losing something, which in this case would be losing us, and or our approval. She has found somebody that she trusts and we have to let her know that she isn't going anywhere, and we will take care of her."

"She looks really calm and content right now," said Mary and I heard them all turn in their chairs to look at me. I tried really hard to control the heat I felt rising to my cheeks.

"That is the most relaxed I have seen her since we met her," John chimed in.

"You should have seen her last night when she fell asleep on me."

"She fell asleep on you?" said Mary surprised.

"Well after her attack, we went to sit on the couch, and she sort of just drifted off."

"You didn't move her all night did you Sherlock?" laughed John.

"Well, no I didn't. I was pretty comfortable too…"

"Aw, you really are just a big softie aren't you?" teased Mary. I could almost hear Sherlock's eyes rolling.

"She is drowning in your clothes Sherlock," said John.

"Oh, that reminds me," he said in response, "Mary, would you mind taking her shopping for some clothes? She has next to nothing. I will cover it, so don't worry. Get her whatever she needs."

"Of course I will!"

"Bad idea mate," said John.

"What is?" they both asked and turned to look at him.

"Giving my wife no budget, and setting her loose in a store," he finished calmly. Mary playfully smacked him and Sherlock chuckled.

It was at this point that I decided to 'wake up'. I rolled over and groaned as I covered my eyes with my arm, blocking out the sun as if I had just opened my eyes. "Good morning sleepyhead," Mary laughed. "You are definitely not an early riser are you?"

"What time is it?" I asked, trying to sound groggy.

"It is nearly noon," Sherlock answered for her.

"Is it really?" I asked in actual surprise. "I never sleep in this late."

"Well I'm sure you were tired after all the events that went on yesterday," said John and I could tell that he didn't just mean my moving into the flat.

"Yeah, probably," I said dumbly.

"Why don't you go shower and then you and I will go do some shopping," Mary smiled kindly.

"Alright," I said and rubbed my eyes, adding to my waking up performance.

"And eat this," John chimed in handing me a piece of toast. "You barely ate any dinner last night." I took the toast from him, and took a bite of it, thanking him as I went up the stairs to my bedroom. When I reached my desk, I set down the toast though, and didn't eat any more of it. I gathered my effects, and a new outfit, as well as my blade.

I went back down the stairs and saw Sherlock sitting on his chair, hands folded under his chin. "Why does he do that?" I asked John who was still sitting at the table with Mary drinking his coffee.

"He is in his mind palace"

"What the heck is that?" I laughed.

"It's a memory technique. It doesn't have to be an actual place. The way it works, you put information there, and theoretically you'll never forget it, you just have to find your way back to it," he said sounding as if he had rehearsed it.

"Interesting, I will remember that," I replied as I made my way back to the bathroom. When I got there, I did the same routine of stripping down, and turning the shower on, almost full heat. Then, I grabbed my toothbrush and toothpaste and brushed the morning breath away. I felt much better afterwards, and tried to ignore the urge to take the blade to my arm and hopped in the shower. A few of the cuts from yesterday were healing, but I grimaced when I saw my thighs. Flesh was hanging all over the place in bits and pieces. Alright, maybe I shouldn't have gone as far as I did, and carefully washed my legs.

Eventually, my stomach began to hurt and churn, I was needed to cut so badly. I put my hands over my face and tried my hardest to ignore it. Soon, I felt like screaming, I needed it so badly. I stepped out of the shower dripping, and grabbed the blade off of the counter and hopped back in the shower. Even just holding it took some of the tension away. I looked my arms over trying to find an empty spot, but it was to no avail.

I needed this, and my mouth was watering in anticipation as I made a decision. I held the blade to my stomach and gulped. I had never cut my stomach before and was actually hesitant to do so, but I was desperate. I hovered the blade not quite sure where to begin. It was like the first time I had ever cut myself.

I had had a horrible fight with my father, this being a week after my mom's funeral. He had gotten drunk and was yelling at me because I didn't do the dishes like he asked me to. In the middle of his yelling and waving his arms, and me trying not to cry, he fell over and passed out. I ran to his room and went under his bed and grabbed the hunting bag that resided there. I dug through it until I found what I was looking for…his shiny hunting knife. I walked back through the kitchen, and grabbed a box of matches and flipped my dad off before I went back to my room.

Once in, I shut and locked the door and stalked to my bed, dropping the matches and knife on the comforter. I stared at the knife and finally, picked up the matches and took one out of the box. I struck it on the side, lighting it and passing it over the blade of the knife to kill any germs. Then, after sitting with my legs hanging over the side of the bed, and turning the knife over and over studying the cool shiny metal, I pressed it to my arm. I dragged it across, causing blood to fall over the sides of the cut. I chewed my lip wincing at the pain, and swearing to myself I would never do it again.

Only a couple short months later, here I was standing in the shower, slicing my stomach, because I had run out of room elsewhere. Hovering the blade over my naval, I sighed in discontent, but was relieved when the blood began to trickle down my sides. That should be able to hold me over, even though it was only one cut. Disgusted with myself, I finished my shower, and dried off. I got dressed and shoved the blade in the heap of clothes that included my long sleeve shirt, and Sherlock's shirt and pants.

I exited the bathroom as I ran my fingers through my damp hair. When I got back into the kitchen, Mary and John were gone, and Sherlock still hadn't moved, although he did open his eyes when I came out. "Where are Mary and John? I thought we were going shopping?" They went downstairs to help Mrs. Hudson hang a painting. How was your shower?"

"It was fine, thanks," I replied a little bit more snarky than I meant to. After all he was only trying to be nice to me, but for some reason, I was really pissed off. He raised his eyebrows in confusion as to why I snapped.

"Are you alright Amy? You aren't having another…you know…attack?"

"No Sherlock, I'm fine. I promise. Thank you." I could see that he didn't believe me, but I tried to ignore it and just get back upstairs.

"Um, Amy, you might want to watch out for the box…"

"What box?" I said just as I tripped over a box full of folders and sent mine and Sherlock's clothes, my shower stuff, and one little shiny, blood stained razor sailing through the air. The blade bounced and skidded until it came to a rest next to Sherlock's shoe. I wished that I could have melted through the floor as he looked up at me and back down to the razor in disbelief.

He stooped down to pick it up just as John and Mary came in through the door laughing, but they stopped when they saw what Sherlock was holding. I hadn't moved from where I had fallen until I curled up my knees to my chest and buried my head in my hands. "No, no, no, no," I moaned.

"Amy what is this?" asked Sherlock. I looked up to see three worried faces looking at me. Man I wished I could die.


	5. Chapter 5

I moaned and buried my head in my knees while I rocked back and forth. This couldn't be happening to me. They knew now. They all knew. All of the labels that they had surely placed on me now flashed through my head, emo, cutter, freak, self-harmer, goth, self-mutilator. I was willing it all to go away when the shaking started. "Fuck," I said quietly trying hard to turn it off and make it all go away. I knew it was no use and prepared myself for what was coming. Sherlock noticed it and turned to John and Mary.

"You two should go back down to Mrs. Hudson," he said warningly.

"Why? Oh shit," said John as he realized what was going on. Mary bent down to hug me, but when she touched me I didn't even recognize her and could only see somebody wanting to hurt me. Everything was getting hazy, and I felt as if I was high. Voices were slurring together and my heart was beating so fast that I was quite sure it was going to beat right out of my chest.

"Mary, she will be alright, you just need to go and let me get her calmed down," Sherlock said gently as John led a worried Mary out the door. The sound of the door shutting made me jump and caused the tears to start leaking out.

"Amy, can you hear me? It's Sherlock. You live here with me and I am your friend. I would never hurt you. You are having an anxiety attack. I'm going to pick you up and move you to the couch ok?"

Of course, all of this went in one ear and out the other, and when he picked me up, you would have thought that someone was murdering me. I began yelling and beating my hands on his chest frantically trying to get away. He didn't even flinch as my blows continuously rained down. He gently set me on the couch and sat next to me stroking my hair and talking to me. Slowly, everything came back into focus, and as soon as I could see straight, I got up and sped to the bathroom only to fall to my knees and empty bile, and whatever substance the bite of toast provided into the toilet.

Sherlock had followed me and was watching with a pained expression from the doorway, not quite sure what to do. When the vomiting stopped, I reached up and flushed the toilet and then pressed my forehead on the cool porcelain. I sighed and tried to keep tears of embarrassment and frustration from falling down my face.

"Amy," Sherlock said nervously, "can I help you?"

I shook my head and tried to block it out. He came and knelt next to me, stroking circles on my back which was wet from my still damp hair. "Do you want to come out to the couch, and we can talk about this?" he asked. After I nodded my head, he helped to pull me up and get me to the sink so I could rinse my mouth out and splash some cool water on my face.

Five minutes later, Mary and I were sitting on the couch, her with her arm around my shoulders, and me with my face once again hiding behind my hands. In front of us, John and Sherlock sat on the coffee table facing us. Nobody spoke for a moment until Sherlock picked up the used blade that sat next to him and after staring at it intently, asked me, "Amy, what is this?"

I mumbled a response into my hands. "What was that?" asked John patiently.

I sat up and wiped away my tears before looking at them and saying, "It is a razor blade."

"Yes," Sherlock stated, "it is a razor blade. What are you doing with it?"

"Nothing," I said quietly lowering my eyes from his intense gaze.

"Alright then, whose blood is this on the blade?"

I bit my lip to keep it from trembling. "It's mine," I answered quietly.

"Why is your blood on the blade Amy?"

"Because, I…well I…cut myself with it."

Sherlock sighed, and John stiffened next to him, obviously pained by my response. Mary unconsciously pulled me closer to her, almost protectively.

"Why would you do that to yourself Amy?" asked John sadly. When I didn't answer, he asked again, "May I see them, so that I can bandage them. I am a doctor you know."

"You are," I asked. Great. There was no doubt in my mind I was going to a shrink now.

"Yes, but I just want to bandage them. May I see please?" I shook my head. "Why not Amy? I just want to make sure they don't need stitches, or bandaging."

"Because you will be disgusted with me," I said meekly.

"There are very few people in this world who disgust me Amy. They are made up of murderers, rapists, and terrorists. Are you any of those?" I looked at him and shook my head. "Then I can guarantee you will not disgust me," he said with a half-smile.

Reluctantly, and slowly I began rolling up my sleeves to reveal my arms and the bruises, cuts, and enlarged veins that accompanied them. I heard Mary suck in her breath and John grimaced a bit at the crisscrosses that covered my arms. Sherlock had not spoken or moved in a few minutes and was only sitting very quietly and watching sadly. The look in his eyes made me feel so guilty knowing that I was the reason behind the pain.

"Oh Amy…"said John as he reached out to pull my arm closer so he could get a better look. "Are these all of them?" Again, I shook my head. "Can you show me?" This time, I nodded my head, and pulled up my shirt to reveal the latest cut, located right above my belly button. That one was probably the best fairing cut on my whole body as it was not much more than a scrape that would heal in a few dies, leaving no scars behind.

"Any more?" asked John. I nodded again, and the question was asked for a third time. "May I see them?" I shook my head. John looked un-phased and patiently asked, "Why not?"

"They are on my thighs, and well…"

"Oh, I see. Would you like to go to have Mary or I go upstairs with you to make sure that they are not too bad?" he asked kindly.

"Yes, but you should come, not Mary. I'm pretty sure they need stitches."

"Should we go to my office? I promise, I can look at you and patch you up, so we don't have to tell anybody else?" he said. I looked up at him in surprise. He didn't want to tell anybody. Maybe they weren't going to send me to see somebody after all.

"Alright," I agreed and we all stood and walked towards the door. Once outside, we hailed a taxi cab and all piled in. Since there were only three seats in the back, Mary sat up front in the passenger seat, and Sherlock was wormed in between John and me in the back seat. After giving the cabbie directions to his office, John, Mary and the cabbie chit chatted and made small talk. Sherlock and I said nothing as I despised small talk, and had a feeling that his views on the subject were similar.

When we arrived, John paid the cabbie and we all went inside the doctor's office. Mary and Sherlock sat in the waiting room while John took me back to get stitched up. Sherlock remained silent the entire ride up here, and hadn't even looked at me in over ten minutes. I felt like I let him down, and that hurt worse than any cut I had inflicted on myself before. I grimaced every time the needle entered my skin, pulling the flesh back together in order for it to heal without issues. When he had finished, John put some cream on top, and bandaged the stitched areas with white clean bandages. He helped me down off the table, and I pulled my pants back up as he put away all of his tools.

"Amy, will you please promise me that you won't do that again?" he asked solemnly.

I nodded and said, "I'm sorry John, I never meant to upset you or Mary, or Sherlock." I bowed my head and bit my lip.

"I know Amy. We all care about you and want to help you. Please just talk to us instead of doing this to yourself alright?"

I sniffed and nodded as John offered me his hand to help me off the counter. He wrapped me in a tight hug and we went back into the waiting room where Mary was hidden behind a magazine and Sherlock was rummaging through something behind the reception desk and muttering to himself. "All done!" John announced as we came back in causing them both to look up at us.

Mary smiled and put down the magazine while Sherlock easily hopped across the counter and said, "Good! That took long enough," he pulled out his phone and was texting furiously as he continued, "Lestrade has been texting me, they need us in the morgue now! Let's go!" He went outside to hail a cab while John apologized, kissed his wife, and handed us the office keys so we could lock up before following Sherlock. I saw them get in a cab and speed away.

"Hey, we still have a shopping date if you're up to it kiddo!" she said as we made our way outside. She turned on the doorstep, and locked the door. Then, she jiggled the knob to test it before waving her arms in an attempt to hail down a cab that was passing by. We climbed in and headed off to the nearest mall. I hated malls, but somehow, I felt that Mary would make an afternoon of looking through clothes easier.

By the time three o'clock rolled around, we had already hit a few stores and I had a collection of bags full of clothes including some more shirts and jeans, as well as some undergarments and a jacket. I had tried to pay for it all, but Mary insisted that Sherlock had already covered it and I figured that Mary Watson was one person I could not win an argument with. Lunch was followed with a haircut, and we trudged off to another store to get some mascara and eyeliner, as well as a few feminine necessities.

Mary talked and laughed the entire time, telling me stories of her and John, about the baby they were expecting, and everything else under the sun. It was a relief actually as I didn't have to do much talking, just listening which agreed with us both. When we had finished, we grabbed a cab home and she helped me to unload the haul into my room. When she went home, I was on my bed reading again. Mrs. Hudson came home to check on me when eight o'clock came and Sherlock wasn't home yet. I assured her I was fine on my own, and so she went back down to her own flat.

The minute she left, I rushed downstairs and grabbed my blade off of the table, where Sherlock had left it. That was stupid of him. I would have thought him to be smarter than that. I shrugged my shoulders. Oh well, it meant that I got it back. I went upstairs and slid it in between my mattress and box spring for a hiding spot. My sock drawer was too easy to find. I plopped back down on my bed after changing into my new pajamas that Mary had picked out. The pants were soft and fluffy, and although I liked the shirt, I pulled a sweatshirt that John must have left in the dresser over my head. I felt safe in it and its oversized coziness.

I looked down at the clock and after grabbing my things, went downstairs to brush my teeth and wash my face for bed. I splashed to cold water on my face rinsing away the troubles of the day down the drain. I brushed my teeth and pulled my freshly trimmed hair up into a pony atop my head. When I finished and walked back in the living room to turn off the light, I found a person standing there. Sherlock turned around and focused his eyes on me. "We need to talk Amy." I gulped.


	6. Chapter 6

"We need to talk Amy," Sherlock repeated. "Why don't you take a seat?" I walked over to the John's chair and sat down and Sherlock followed me and sat in his chair. "Amy I have only known you for two days, but I care about you and finding out that you…" he grimaced, "…cut yourself, hurts." He sighed.

"I know, Sherlock. I'm so sorry. I never meant to hurt you…or John, Mary, and Mrs. Hudson for that matter. You all have done so much for me, and I owe you all so much," I bowed my head. "I really am sorry."

"I know you are," he said, "but I know that sorry isn't going to make you stop."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"Addictions control your life when you let them get this bad whether it be drugs, alcohol, or in your case, self-harm. In the time from when you got home, you have taken the razor from this table and have hidden it somewhere else in your room." Crap, he had noticed. Then again, he was a 'consulting detective', and I probably wasn't going to be able to hide much from him. "I should know," he admitted.

"What?" I looked up at him in surprise.

"I have had my share of drug addictions, but with help from those who love and care about me, I was able to rise above them, and quit. I have been clean for a long time, but I had a small relapse right after John and Mary's wedding."

"You did drugs?"

"Yes, and I am not proud of it Amy. Unfortunately, this is your drug, and the blade is your syringe so to speak. Now, I am not going to make you go see a special doctor, I am not going to make you find somewhere else to live, nor am I going to search through your room for the blade. I trust you, and I only ask that you come ask me for help when you need it, and don't let it get this bad ok?"

I bit my lip to avoid crying. For the first time since my mom had died, I felt like somebody loved me, and I had somebody to try for. I stood up and practically threw myself at Sherlock. I wrapped my arms around him, causing him to stiffen in surprise. A few small tears streaked down my cheeks and fell on his shirt. "Thank you Sherlock," I whispered, "I promise that I will try." At this, he relaxed, and even hugged me back.

"Alright," he said, pulling away from the embrace. I could tell that he was not much for sentiment, "Why don't you run up to bed and try to get some sleep."

"Alright, goodnight," I said as I turned to go upstairs to my room.

"Goodnight Amy," Sherlock said as he turned to pick up his violin. I heard the sweet sounding music drifting up the stairs after me. Once, in my room, I went over to the window to look outside. London was a big city, and somehow since I got here, I had only really seen the parks where I slept, the backstreets and alleyways, and now, Baker Street. I told myself that I needed to get out and go sightseeing when I had the time. For now, I was perfectly happy to curl up on my bed, and read some more.

For some reason, I had kept Sherlock's t-shirt, and it was now with me under the blankets of my bed. It was comforting to have with me. Maybe I kept it because that is what I used to do when my mom would go out of town or something. I would take her shirts or bathrobe and sleep with them because it smelled like her, and I could imagine she was with me.

Right after midnight, a soft knock sounded at my door. "Come in," I said as I placed a tag from the clothes we had bought today in my book as a place holder. Sherlock entered the room in his pajamas, and made a face.

"I was hoping you were able to fall asleep," he said.

"Well, as you deduced, I have insomnia. I have for a long time, and just can't sleep tonight."

"Neither can I, I have been sitting downstairs thinking, but I am bored, so instead of shooting the wall again, I decided to see if you were awake still."

I laughed when he mentioned the wall shooting and asked, "Do you have insomnia too?"

"No, but when I am on a case, I don't usually sleep when I am on a case."

"You are working on a case?"

"Yes," he came and sat down on my bed and leaned back against the wall.

"What is the case?" I inquired.

"Three people have been found having been bled to death all by a cut on their neck. Not enough to kill at first, but after the bleeding wouldn't stop, the blood loss would kill them. Lestrade had found another one today when we were at John's office. That is why we had to hurry off to the morgue."

"Who is this Lestrade you keep mentioning?" I interjected.

"He is the detective inspector down at Scotland Yard. Don't interrupt my answer to your previous question with another question, it's rude."

"Sorry," I said somewhat embarrassed.

He continued, completely ignoring my apology. "Two men and one woman," he said more to himself than to me. Then, he continued this time to me, "they had each been sent a letter with a number on it, just one number on a sheet of paper the day before they were murdered. The first man's number was a ten, the next man's was a nine, and the newest woman was an eight. So, obviously the killer is counting down, and there will be at least seven more killings." He stopped talking, and I waited a minute to make sure that he was done so that I wouldn't interrupt again.

"Do you have any idea who it is?"

"Yes," Sherlock replied.

"What is his name?"

"Sebastian Moran, the man who we were chasing the day we bumped into you.

"Wait, let me get this straight, I had a gun held to my head by a serial killer, and he didn't shoot me?"

"Yep," he said popping his lips on the p.

"Why didn't he just shoot me?"

"Probably because we were in broad daylight, but he knows that I know he is the killer, so I really have no idea."

"Wow," I said a little bit dumbfounded.

"He works for an old enemy of mine, James Moriarty."

It wasn't surprising to hear that Sherlock had enemies so I just replied with a halfhearted, "Oh."

We sat there in silence for a bit when Sherlock noticed his shirt next to me on the bed. "What is that doing in here still? Mary got you some pajamas didn't she?"

I blushed, "Yeah, but I like the way it smells. It smells like you."

"I smell good?" he asked honestly surprised.

"Well it's comforting. I used to do the same thing with my mom's shirts when she went out of town."

"Oh, well in that case, keep it. I never wear it anyways."

"Thanks Sherlock," I smiled.

He smiled in response but didn't say anything else. We both sat there in silence for a few minutes, lost in thought, which of course was not a good thing for me usually. Usually, I would be in a very bad place mentally, but with Sherlock with me, I felt safe and my thoughts were good for the first time in a very long time. It was a great relief. Sherlock broke the silence with, "Why do you do it Amy?" He didn't need to explain that he was asking why I cut, I knew exactly what he meant.

"It makes my brain stop working for a little bit and makes me only focus on the pain. It is a relief from all of my thoughts."

He looked at me surprised, "A break from your brain?"

"Yeah," I continued, "when I get to thinking, it usually ends up with me thinking about all of the times I have hurt people, and let them down, or worrying about what could happen. I can't seem to stop thinking unless I cut. That is also why I have insomnia. I can never relax enough to go to sleep."

"I know how you feel in that sense. That was exactly why I did drugs, to make my brain slow down." We didn't say anything for a long time again. Then he said, "You like reading?"

"Yeah, I love it. I was so happy when I saw that there were books in here. I haven't read a book since I left my dad…"

"Well you know, you aren't limited to these books. You can borrow any of mine, or there is a library not that far from here."

"Yeah, Mary said that if you didn't let me read your books, you would have her to deal with."

He chuckled, "Of course she did."

"How do you feel about them having a baby?" I asked.

"I am really happy for them of course…" he said.

"But…?"

"I am a little jealous. After she is born, they will be with her all the time. I mean after the wedding…this is silly. Why am I telling you this?"

"Because we are friends," I smiled, "now continue."

"Well, I already have to share John with Mary, who I love, don't get me wrong, but now he has a daughter that will require a lot of love and attention," he sighed, "I really am a horrible friend." He laughed and shook his head.

"You know, John is your best friend and will always be there for you, no matter what. Yes a daughter will be his new priority, but you have other people to talk to…like me. Plus baby Watson will need a lot of love from her uncle Sherlock too, not just her mommy and daddy."

"Well, children don't usually like me," and honestly I can't blame them. I am a brutally honest stubborn ass of a man."

"Well, I'm no toddler or anything, but if it helps I like you, and I'm not exactly an adult either."

He smiled at me, and didn't even need to say anything. I knew that that smile was worth a thousand thank yous. "I never told you thank you for paying for my clothes. I could have covered it you know."

He waved his hand, "Don't worry about it. I would never have used the money anyways. You would be surprised how much a consulting detective pays."

"Still it was very generous of you, so thanks."

"No problem."

"Do you like reading? I mean you have a lot of books so I would expect that you do."

"I enjoy it enough, but my mind tends to wander when I read, so it is a bit hard to stay focused."

"I bet you have a really good reading voice," I said.

"Really? Why?" he asked.

"You have a very melodious voice with a lot of expression."

"Melodious…good vocabulary choice," most people don't talk like that.

"I'm not like most people though. I have always been a little bit different. I would rather be different than stupid though."

He grinned, "You know, I am liking you more and more Amy. You never told me your last name you know."

"It's Smith, but I want to change it so that my dad cant track me down."

"Mycroft can take care of that. He will get you all new identification if you wish," he said.

"Who is Mycroft?"

"My older brother."

"What makes him able to get me identification?" I asked.

"He practically is the British government, and has more power than he knows what to do with."

"I would be deeply grateful if he could do that," I said with relief. We sat there for a moment and I said, "My mom had one of those voices."

"What?"

"One of those good reading voices," I said. "She always gave the characters funny voices. She read to me since I was in the womb apparently. That's probably why I love reading so much."

"Well," Sherlock announced, standing up and walking to my desk to look through the books, "let's see if I can compete with her. I smiled watching him trace the spines with his finger, just like I did. He decided on _The Count of Monte Cristo_ and brought it back to the bed. I sat up and leaned against the headboard while he resumed his position of leaning against the wall. He cleared his throat and began reading with his beautiful voice, _"On the 24__th__ of February, 1815, the Marseilles port lookouts signaled that the three-master Pharaoh was coming up towards the harbor…"_

I watched him as he read and smiled. He changed voices for each of the characters and made such expressions when he read, that I was surprised he wasn't an Oscar winning actor. I was lost in the familiar words of Alexander Dumas, but somehow, a new light was shed on them when they were read by Sherlock.

Before I knew it, sunlight was drifting in the room. We had stayed up talking and reading all night. Sherlock was so immersed in the storytelling, that he didn't even notice what time it was until I pointed out that it was morning and to my surprise, I was hungry. Grudgingly, he put the book down after I giggled and promised him that we could work on it some more another time.

We went downstairs to find two cups of tea and some biscuits on a tray sitting on the table. As if Sherlock was reading my mind, he said, "Mrs. Hudson brings me tea every morning. Apparently, she is bringing it for you too."

"Well that is nice of her," I said as I picked up a cup and began adding cream and a lot of sugar to it. After my fourth cube, Sherlock raised his eyebrows in amusement.

"Would you like some tea with your sugar there?"

"So what if I like things sweet? It makes up for my sour disposition."

"If that's the case, maybe I should start adding that much sugar," he said and we laughed. I walked over to the fridge and began looking for something to make for breakfast.

"Well, we have eggs, bread, and apparently fingers," I said holding up a bag of bloody thumbs.

"Ignore those," Sherlock said.

"I wasn't even planning on asking," I said as I pulled out the eggs and bread. I placed two pieces in the toaster and cracked three eggs in a glass. I figured with our appetites that should be more than enough. I scrambled the eggs with a fork and dumped them in a buttered frying pan, and added some salt and pepper. I waited by the toaster and occasionally stirred the eggs with a spatula. They finished cooking quickly, and so I took the pan off the heat. The toaster popped causing me to jump, much to Sherlock's amusement. I shot him a looked and put the eggs and toast on two plates for us.

We ate in silence which was broken by Sherlock's phone. He glanced down at the text message and said half to himself, half to me, "There's been another murder. Lestrade needs me at the morgue."

"Can I please come with you? I don't want to stay here all by myself."

"You, won't be by yourself, Mrs. Hudson will be here," Sherlock replied bluntly.

"It's not the same," I said. "Please, please, please let me come with you. I promise I won't make any noise or anything, I just don't want to be by myself today."

He studied my face with narrowed eyes and said, "Amy, you are a stubborn girl, and I have a feeling I will regret leaving you here, so you have five minutes to get ready, or I am leaving without you. Your time starts now."

He had an amused expression when I practically jumped out of my chair and raced upstairs to get dressed. I slammed my door and threw on some clothes, and ran a brush threw my hair before pulling it up off of my hair into a ponytail. A shower would have to wait. I grabbed my toothbrush and raced back downstairs to brush my teeth. When I exited the bathroom, Sherlock was at the door pulling his scarf into place around his neck. He was in his familiar collared, button up shirt and black slacks with his long coat on top. He looked down at his watch and smiled. "You made it with thirty seconds to spare. I must say I am impressed," he said as he opened the door and held his arm out, gesturing for me to exit the room. "Ladies first," he smiled as I walked past him. I practically ran down the stairs, almost falling when I tripped over the last step.

"Do try to be careful, I would hate to have to take you to the emergency room when I am needed in the morgue." He sighed as he followed me out the front door onto the sidewalk. This was his way of saying, 'Please don't hurt yourself'. I could tell he meant well, and only grinned at him in response. A cab was waiting for us outside, and we climbed in as Sherlock barked out the order for where to go as well as a "And do hurry."

"That's what everybody says," the cabbie laughed.

I wrinkled my nose at the funny cab smell, and stared out the window looking at all the sights we passed. When we took the cab yesterday, I was not in much of a mood for sightseeing, but today I gazed in wonder as I got my first really good look of London. Sherlock was intent on texting and carrying on a halfhearted conversation with the cabbie who jabbered on about this and that.

Soon, we pulled up to Saint Bart's Hospital and climbed out of the cab as Sherlock threw a fifty pound note in the front seat of the cab. Since he wasn't going to do it, I thanked the cabbie for the ride before following Sherlock inside the hospital. We entered the morgue, and the smell of chemicals greeted me in a wave that made me pinch my nose.

Sherlock looked at me and laughed. "You don't have a weak stomach do you?" he asked.

I shook my head, "No, but what on earth is that smell?"

"Embalming chemicals." He pushed open some double doors and I jogged after him into a room. His legs were so much longer than mine and it was quite difficult for me to keep up with him. The room we entered had a row of drawers containing bodies on one side, and three or so bed looking things on the other side. I could see John, a small woman with brownish auburn hair, and a greying man all gathered around a man on one of the beds.

John turned to look at us and said, "What the hell is she doing here?"

"Well, I couldn't just leave her at the flat now could I?" Sherlock answered as he strode over to the group. John started our way and grabbed his arm dragging him into an office that was over in the corner. While they were walking John was chewing Sherlock out.

The only things I could make out before they closed the door were, "Sherlock she is a fifteen year old with severe anxiety, and you bring her to look at a murder? Are you insane?" I grimaced and stood awkwardly in the middle of the room not quite sure what to do.

"You must be Amy," the man said as he walked over to me with a smile. "I'm Greg Lestrade," he said as he held his hand out.

I took it and shook it as I said, "Yeah, that's me. So you're Lestrade? I have heard about you."

"John was telling me about you too," he said kindly. "That's Molly," he said pointing at the woman who smiled and waved shyly.

"Hi Amy," she said.

"Hey Molly, nice to meet you."

"You too!" she smiled.

"You are the one that got Sherlock the eyeballs right?" I asked.

Lestrade shot her a look and she blushed guiltily before turning back to the man. Oops, I didn't mean to get her in trouble and felt bad for doing so.

I walked over to the body which was covered only by a sheet over the groin. It was a man, probably around thirty or so. Molly was examining him and occasionally marking this and that down on a clipboard. "What's his name?" I asked, looking up at Lestrade.

"Steven Perry," he said returning my gaze.

"How did he die?" this time I directed my question at Molly, although it was pretty obvious from the bloody hole on his throat.

"Blood loss from a puncture wound here in his neck," she replied pointing at the wound with her pen.

Just then Sherlock and John came out of the office, both plainly annoyed, and John red faced. Even though he was annoyed, Sherlock had a triumphant smirk on his face telling me that he had won me the right to stay. John came over and put his hand on my shoulder. "If this bothers you at all, or you start feeling like you are going to have an attack, you let me know, and you and I will go downstairs and get something to eat while they finish up."

I blushed at having Molly and Lestrade hear about my attacks, but they seemed unphased so I assumed John had already told them. I could only wonder what else he had told them. "Oh, she's fine John, stop fussing and come help me over here," Sherlock answered for me.

John ignored him and gave me a look. "Alright?" he asked.

"Alright," I agreed. "Thanks John." He smiled and walked over to join the examination. Sherlock pulled a small magnifying glass from his coat pocket and began looking the man over head to toe.

"Did her receive a letter?" asked John.

Lestrade turned and grabbed a bag with a note in it, and handed it to John. I stood at the end of the 'bed' the man was lying on and observed the whole thing. Sherlock seemed to be lost in thought as he went over the man's every last detail. Molly watched him intently with a small smile of adoration upon her lips. I smiled. Well obviously somebody has a crush. John and Lestrade were discussing the man's background. I heard John ask, "Is there anything, anything at all, that connects these people."

"Not that we can tell, they seem to all just be chosen at random." John sighed and turned to look at Sherlock.

"Any ideas?" he inquired.

"A few, although, they are all what I have deduced about the others, so nothing new," he answered, standing up and sliding the magnifying glass back in his pocket. I really wanted to ask what he had deduced about the others, but I had promised to shut up and not say anything so I held my tongue. "Thanks Molly," he said as she started to put Mr. Perry's body back into one of the drawers.

She blushed and smiled, "Of course Sherlock!" When her back was turned Sherlock rolled his eyes, but looked ashamed when he caught the dirty look I shot him. Lestrade, John, and Sherlock started to exit the morgue, and so I hurried to catch up with them after saying bye to Molly. She seemed really nice and was obviously head over heels for Sherlock. I had to tell him to be nicer to her.

"So what do we do?" asked Lestrade.

"Well, all we can do is try to keep this out of the press and try to find Moran. The last thing we need is for everyone to panic. I will ask Mycroft to have his people keep a look out, and will alert everyone in my homeless network to do the same," said Sherlock. "If we are lucky, we might be able to find Moriarty with Moran, but I highly doubt it. He is too careful for that. Moran would be more of his right hand hit-man."

"I will do my best to keep the press at bay, but if another murder happens, it will be near impossible," Lestrade replied. "Will you two come down and fill out a report at the Yard? My car is out front and I can give you a lift."

"Sure thing," said John before Sherlock could say anything. He sighed and walked with me behind Lestrade and John out to the parking lot.

"Molly seems nice," I said looking up at Sherlock. I had to crane my neck as he was almost a foot taller than me.

"Yes, she is. She even helped me fake my suicide."

"Your what?" I asked astonished.

He waved his hand, "Story for another time." I shook my head. Sherlock Holmes was an interesting man.

"She likes you, you know."

"What?"

"Molly. She likes you. You should be nicer to her." Sherlock looked at me and rolled his eyes.

"I thought we had discussed the fact that I am a rude ass," he said. "And you don't need to get involved in my love life anyway."

"Your love life?" I asked incredulously. "Do you like her back?"

"To care about someone is a disadvantage," he mumbled sounding bored and irritated.

"Yeah, that is not what I asked. I asked if you like her back." He said nothing as we walked the white halls of the hospital and I grinned. I could definitely have fun teasing him about this. We got in Lestrade's car and drove to Scotland Yard.

When we arrived, Sherlock and John went back to a room to fill out some papers with Lestrade, leaving me in the waiting room. I got bored eventually, and then I noticed a person with crutches struggling to open the front door. I got up and went to go help them. I held it open as he hobbled out the door and thanked me. The cool air felt good, so I went outside to cool off.

I was sitting on a bench in front of the station swinging my legs as they weren't long enough to reach the ground when a black car pulled up next to me and a big man in a suit stepped out. He held open the door with one hand, and rested the other on a gun in a holster on his hip. "Please get in the car Miss Smith," he said looking directly at me. He had slicked back brown hair and dark brown eyes. I shook my head nervously. He shifted his weight and moved his hand in an apparent attempt to draw attention to the fact that he had a gun. "I said get in the car Miss Smith." I noted that he left out the please this time. I stood up shaking, and went to climb in the car.

Once inside, I could see a man sitting in a seat facing my own. "Ah, Miss Smith. Finally we have the chance to meet," he said in a chilling voice. I could tell that I was in deep shit here.


	7. Chapter 7

The car was dark, and the man's face was well hidden by shadows. He was wearing a blue tailored suit, and dress shoes. I sat uncomfortably on the fancy cushioned seats of the car, which was more like a limo on the inside. The man who had told me to get in the car was across from me and next to the man in the suit. Obviously I was outnumbered and trapped, not to mention that we were driving at decent speed through the streets of London.

All of the people that had been murdered were flashing through my mind, but I could almost guarantee that this was not the same killer, since I had not received a number in the mail yesterday. Yeah, that great assumption to place my life on right? Not to mention that this could be some other crazy criminal who had kidnapped me, and did not intend to murder me at all. I swallowed and tried weakly to not show them how afraid I was.

"How are you like living at Baker Street?" the man in the suit asked, breaking my train of thought about murders, and numbers, and kidnappings.

"How did you know that I am living at Baker Street?" I asked warily.

"I have…connections you could say. Lots and lots of connections," he said quieter. Then louder, he continued, "Sort of like your friend Holmes' homeless network, although not so dirty and primitive." He rubbed his hands as if trying to rid himself of some germ that had affected him just by mentioning Sherlock's helpers.

"It's fine," I said shortly. I focused on taking deep breaths in through my nose and out through my mouth. The man who had told me to get in the car, who at this point I was referring to as 'Gun Man' in my head, noticed my fear and handed me a small glass of water. Well as kidnappers come, he was at least a little courteous. "Thanks," I whispered as my shaking hand brought the glass to my lips.

"No need to be frightened dear, we are on our way back to Baker Street as we speak. I just wanted to get a chance to talk to you." Ok, now I was really confused. My kidnapper had given me water, and was returning me back home, without even asking anything.

'He KIDNAPPED you Amy,' I said to myself. 'He probably isn't taking you home at all, and is just getting your hopes up. Plus the car ride wasn't over yet.'

Suddenly, the car screeched to a halt, and someone banged on the hood of the car. The man sighed and looked at his watch, "My, my, fifteen minutes. He is getting a little slow." As I was trying to peer out the windows to see exactly who 'he' was, the door of the backseat was flung open revealing a furious looking Sherlock.

"What the hell do you think you are doing?" he yelled. Without asking, he climbed in the car and pulled the door shut with a loud bang. I shifted in my seat when he sat next to me and grabbed my arms. "Are you alright? It's alright, you are safe."

"Sherlock, I'm fine, just a little bit shaken up," I assured him.

"Honestly Sherlock, all I did was take her for a little ride so we could talk."

"All you did," he asked dumbfounded. "What you did was a force a young girl who suffers from extreme anxiety to get in the car with two strange, and armed I might add, men. You then proceed to tell her, keeping in mind that she has anxiety, that you have been essentially watching her and know all about her. Ha! All you did indeed. Well done Mycroft I applaud you."

"Wait, wait, wait. YOU are Mycroft? As in Sherlock's brother, practically is the British government Mycroft?" I looked back and forth between him and Sherlock. "That's your brother?" I asked Sherlock incredulously.

"Unfortunately, yes," Sherlock scowled.

"Oh come on Sherlock, I just wanted to meet your new flat mate before I go making any illegal documents for her like you asked."

"Well then you could have bloody asked us to lunch," Sherlock said, raising his voice. "But nooo, Mycroft has to go all sneaking around with his posh cars and umbrellas, and kidnap fifteen year old girls!"

Mycroft looked at me, obviously not bothered by his outburst, "He will be over it soon enough," he told me.

"Um, I'm not exactly all that happy with you either. You did have a large man with a gun tell me to get in a car."

"Well, you will get over it too," Mycroft waved me away. Yep, that was definitely Sherlock's brother all right. For the remaining five minutes that we drove, we were silent and Sherlock and Mycroft seemed to be having a stare off. I sat back and watched, somewhat amused by the whole sibling rivalry. I had never had a sibling, so couldn't relate to it, and found it to be entertaining.

When we pulled up to 221B, Mycroft said, "Ahh, here we are. I have decided that yes, I will do the documents for you. I would like to discuss it further over lunch tomorrow. I will text you the details Sherlock, and do tell Mrs. Hudson hello for me. It was lovely to meet you Amy."

Sherlock stormed out of the car and into the flat, "Um, it was nice to meet you too," I replied out of sheer politeness before shutting the door and following Sherlock upstairs to the living room where he had flopped dramatically down on the couch.

"I cannot possibly stand going to lunch with that infernal brother of mine tomorrow," he groaned. After lying with his arm draped over his eyes and moaning in apparent agony, he sat up suddenly. It looked as though it caused a head rush because he blinked a few times before speaking. "I need a cigarette. Where did John hide them?" he mumbled as he stumbled to the kitchen and began looking through the cabinets, slamming them when the search proved unsuccessful.

"Sherlock, smoking isn't going to fix anything," I started.

"Oh, like you have any room to talk Amy," he snapped as he came back into the living room and went to go rummage through the desk.

I held up my arms in surrender and shook my head. He was obviously in a mood, and God knows that I could relate to having those. "Where are the damn things!?" he yelled as he slammed the drawer shut on the desk, causing it to rock, and a pile of papers to fly everywhere. He took out his phone and dialed John, cussing everything that was in his sight. I was picking up the papers when Mrs. Hudson popped her head in the door. She caught my eye and I shook my head frantically, trying to get her to leave before Sherlock noticed her.

Unfortunately for her, he did notice, and sprang across the room, dragging her in the door. "Where did you and John hide my cigarettes Mrs. Hudson?" he hissed through clenched teeth as he held the poor lady by both of her arms.

Although she seemed a bit frightened, but who wouldn't be, she looked Sherlock in the eye and said, "You let go of me young man, or I will have a talk with your brother." He gave her a look that held a thousand death wishes, although we both knew he didn't mean it.

"Fine," he said angrily as he pulled his jacket and scarf back on, "I will just go buy some more." He stormed out of the flat, and shut the door so hard, the plaster dust on the roof fell in little bits.

"What brought all of that on?" asked Mrs. Hudson.

"Mycroft kidnapped me," I replied nonchalantly, just to see what her reaction would be.

"Oh, the old sibling rivalry," she sighed. "They both really do love each other, even though they won't admit it." She hadn't even made any remark about Mycroft kidnapping me. I smiled. This really was a weird family that I had chosen to befriend. It didn't matter, they were wonderful people, and I loved being with them.

After sweeping up the dust that had fallen from the ceiling, Mrs. Hudson went back down to her place, and I decided to go for a walk. There was a Starbucks not too far away, so after getting some hot chocolate, I walked to the nearest park, and began strolling along the sidewalk that wrapped around the grass. Plenty of people passed me as I walked. I saw a few skaters, the occasional dog walker or biker, and even a few people who were talking to themselves.

I don't care what people say, people watching is, and always will be the cheapest and most entertaining pastime ever. I sipped on my drink, and wrapped my new coat closer to me as I shivered. It was getting chilly and the sun had begun to set. I turned to start heading home, and in doing so ran into a boy who was standing behind me, spilling the remainder of my hot chocolate all over him in the process.

"Oh my gosh, I am so, so sorry," I said as I bent down to pick the cup off the ground where it had fallen at our feet.

"That's alright, no harm no foul," he said as he helped me up. He was probably around sixteen, with black hair that was short on the sides and spikier on top. He had a pair of lovely hazel eyes set on top of the bridge of his freckled nose. He had on a band sweatshirt, and was standing with two other boys. I had never been good around the opposite gender, and so avoided them whenever possible.

"Thank you," I said returning his smile.

"I'm Will Butler," he said holding his hand out.

I took it and shook it while I said, "Hi, I'm Amy. Nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you too Amy! Where are you off to?"

"Well, I was actually just turning around to go home, it's getting a little chilly."

"Yeah, that it is," he agreed. "Where do you live?"

"Over on Baker Street," I said gesturing in the general direction.

"Great, I will walk you home! Hey guys, I will catch you later, I'm gonna walk Amy here home, yeah?" he said over to his friends who were standing in a circle smoking and snickering.

"Sure thing Will!" one of them yelled in between puffs.

"Ignore my mates, they can be a bit thick," he chuckled.

I didn't say anything for fear of being rude by agreeing with him, so I just laughed with him. The first guy my age I had talked to in forever and I spilt my hot chocolate all over him. Way to go Amy.

"So you're American?" he asked.

"Yeah, I just moved here a couple of months ago…to live with Sherlock…" I stumbled.

"Who is Sherlock?" he asked raising his eyebrows questioningly.

"He's uh, my uncle! Yeah, he is my uncle." I was not about to tell this guy that I had just moved in with Sherlock a few days ago, and had spent the last two months sleeping on park benches. I had already done enough damage for one day.

"Well that's cool," he said politely.

"I suppose so," I said as we walked.

"So do you like living in London so far?"

"Well, I haven't done much sightseeing, but it's pretty good so far."

"Well maybe I can take you on a tour of the city sometime?" he asked hopefully accompanied by another smile.

"Yeah, maybe," I agreed returning the smile. I didn't understand why he wanted to hang out with me when I had ruined the jeans he was wearing with my Starbucks, but didn't question it. We arrived to the flat, just as it was pretty much dark outside.

"Well Amy, it has been a pleasure walking you home. I hope I run into in the park again soon," he said with a wink.

"I take it that that is more of an invitation than a wish?" I asked and giggled.

"Well, yeah. I hang out there with a few blokes every Tuesday and Thursday, maybe you could come next Tuesday. I gotta get going, see ya later!"

"Bye Will," I said with a wave, and turned to go inside.

The nice warmth of Baker Street washed over me, and I sighed. I trudged up to my room and grabbed my shower stuff as I had still not bathed today. I looked at it for a minute before saying, "Screw it, I will shower in the morning." I changed into my pajamas and went downstairs. There was not really anything to eat in the fridge, so I made another piece of toast, and spread some peanut butter on it. Well I guess that that was dinner. I didn't mind though. I wasn't hungry, and mostly just wanted to sit down a relax for a little bit.

I curled up in John's chair with one of Sherlock's books on anatomy. No, it didn't really interest me, but I had always wanted to see if I could learn all of the bones in the body, and I had nothing else better to do. Eventually Sherlock came in, but by then I had fallen asleep with the open book in my lap. I was vaguely aware of him picking me up and carrying me upstairs before tucking me in. His jacket smelled like cigarettes, but I didn't mind. As he wrapped the blankets around me, he yawned. I'm sure he was tired too. He was running on as much sleep as I was, but I figured he probably wasn't going to go to bed for a while yet. I heard him tell me goodnight, and as soon as the lights went out, I was fast asleep.

I woke up pretty early, and trudged downstairs to take my shower. Sherlock was not in the living room, and his bedroom door was shut so I figured that he was probably still asleep, and I hated the idea of turning on the shower and waking him, but I really needed to get cleaned up. When I was showered, dressed, teeth brushed, and with eyeliner freshly applied, I stepped out into the kitchen. A fire crackled in the fireplace, and just like yesterday, tea and biscuits were waiting on the table. I smiled and fixed my cup and went to sit cross-legged in front of the fire to let my hair dry.

By now Sherlock was sitting in his chair and was keeping himself occupied by thumbing through the anatomy book I was reading last night. He said nothing, but went to go take his turn to get ready in the bathroom, which took significantly less time than mine. I really loved that he respected my unsaid 'don't look at me, don't talk to me until at least ten o'clock' rule. I hated cheerful morning people, and I for sure was not one. I preferred the night.

When he was dressed and ready, Sherlock and I went and walked around a park for a while talking about this and that. He mostly wanted to know about my childhood, and I didn't mind talking as long as he kept supplying the subjects. Soon, it was about noon, and we climbed into a cab and drove to the restaurant that Mycroft had texted Sherlock and told him to come to for lunch. When we arrived, Mycroft was already looking through a menu and was seated in a booth sipping on some iced tea. He rose to greet us and straighten his coat when we came over. 'Well this should be interesting,' I thought as I took my place on the inside of the booth next to Sherlock.


	8. Chapter 8

"Hello Amy," Mycroft said politely, accompanied by a forced smile as we sat at the table. I ordered a Dr. Pepper, while Sherlock just got water. I scanned the menu, but nothing sounded appealing. Sherlock was holding his up to his face, and peering over the top of it a Mycroft with narrowed eyes. He was annoyed at Mycroft for dragging us here, and was not afraid to make it painstakingly apparent.

"Everything looks good," Mycroft sighed, leaning back on the upholstery of the booth.

"Given up on your diet?" Sherlock asked tauntingly.

Mycroft narrowed his eyes, "…But I think I will just have a salad," he finished. Sherlock smiled cheekily and I tried hard not to laugh, but was a small giggle escaped, earning me looks from both brothers. I sank lower in my seat, and hid behind the menu, smiling. "And you Sherlock?" Mycroft asked, "what will you be eating?"

"Mycroft, you know very well that I don't eat while I am working on a case.

"Yes, but you will be eating lunch. I insist. You owe me this considering the reason why we are even here today." Sherlock rolled his eyes and scanned over the menu again. I decided on some fish and chips, and Sherlock reluctantly ordered the same.

As we sat munching on our food, Mycroft pulled out a file and slid it across the table toward me. I opened it and saw two profiles, both with my picture. One of them had my real information such as my name, Amy Smith, and birthdate, parents, etc. The second of them had my picture, but instead had Amy Holmes listed as my name, and it read that my parents were dead, and they left me in the custody of my cousins, Sherlock and Mycroft Holmes. According to this, I had the same birthdate as before, but I was born in the UK, not the USA.

"What about my accent?" I asked. "According to this, I am British."

"You were born in the UK, but your parents moved to the United States when you were a baby. When they died, you came back to your birthplace." Replied Mycroft calmly.

"Thank you so much Mr. Holmes," I said as I gazed over the folder. Everything was taken care of. Amy Smith was no longer existent.

"Call me Mycroft, we are supposed to be cousins after all. According to this we both have custody, but that is just in case anything happens to Sherlock, or he relapses or something." Sherlock looked at him with such a face, that I was actually a bit frightened. "There is still one thing we have to discuss Amy," he started, "you are fifteen. Most fifteen year olds are enrolled in high school."

"Oh come on Mycroft, you could easily just make her a diploma or something. You have done all of this." Sherlock sighed.

"Exactly, but I would like Amy to at least have some normal experiences, and maybe some friends her own age."

I sat silent and stunned. I had to go back to school, the one place that I actually dreaded going. "I know you don't want to Amy, and I can see from your old school records that you ditched school regularly. Please, will you just give it a try? If you absolutely hate it by the end of the year, I won't make you go back." Mycroft honestly looked caring and concerned over the matter. Sherlock just huffed and sat back in the booth next to me, crossing his arms. "Will you try?"

I nodded slowly. "Wonderful," Mycroft smiled. "You will start on Monday. Thank you Amy, I appreciate it."

"I don't see why school is important," Sherlock said very annoyed. "Amy is smarter than most people, and who needs to know all of the stupid things that school teaches anyway? She reads books, and can learn more from that any stuffy overly confident monkey in a suit."

Mycroft rolled his eyes. "Fine, if Amy cannot stand school, then you can teach her Sherlock, as you are so much more qualified than any professor." With that Mycroft stood, and said to me, "Goodbye Amy," to Sherlock he just nodded, and he stalked out of the restaurant.

"Move over," I said pushing Sherlock off of the booth seat, and ran after Mycroft out the door. I caught him just as he was about to get in his car. "Wait! Mycroft, hang on!" He stopped and looked back at me.

"Amy, what do you want?" he sighed and looked at his watch.

"I just wanted to tell you thank you and give you this," I said as I hugged him. "I was so scared that my dad would find me here Mycroft, and you fixed it. Thank you so much," I said into his jacket so that my voice was a little muffled.

"Um, you're welcome Amy," he said a little awkwardly as he patted my head and pulled himself out of my embrace. "Have a good day," he said politely and slid into the car, shutting himself off from me. I turned to see Sherlock standing behind me with his arms crossed and a smirk on his face.

"You sure like to give hugs to people don't ya?"

I ignored his question and instead said, "Please tell me you paid our bill and we didn't just dine and ditch."

"I tried to, but Mycroft had already taken care of it."

"Well that was kind of him."

Sherlock and I started walking down the street and hailed a cab. Sherlock told them to take us to what I assumed was John and Mary's house, as I figured there weren't many other people that he would want to go see. Maybe Molly. I smiled at the thought of us going to her house. However, when we arrived at the house and John answered the door, the thoughts of Molly went away. Sherlock stalked into the house and dramatically threw himself on the couch next to Mary who was caressing her stomach.

"Hello to you too Sherlock. Oi! Feet off the couch! Hello, Amy, nice to see you," he said as he hugged my shoulders.

"Hey Amy!" Mary waved her arms, wincing when she tried to get up.

"Hey! Don't come to me, I will come over there." She smiled and sat back contentedly. She was looking very uncomfortable however, and who could blame her? She might as well have had a watermelon under her shirt.

"She's kicking!" Mary exclaimed and pulled my hand to her stomach so I could feel. John practically leapt across the room to get to her and place his hand next to mine. Sherlock studied the situation with a confused expression until Mary grabbed his hand and placed it on the other side of mine. "Get in here too you big galoof. " His hand was so large that it overlapped onto mine. The expression that overcame his face when he felt the baby was one that describing in words does not do justice.

He looked frightened and excited and shocked and amazed all at the same time, and his eyes were wide open. It was a sight that I wish I could have captured on film, just so I could tease him about it later.

"Oh Mary," I exclaimed. I had never felt anything quite comparable to feeling the baby kick. "When is she due?"

"Well, I am at thirty-five weeks, so it should be coming within the next month to month and a half."

"Have you decided what you are calling her?" I asked. Sherlock looked up in anticipation, and I knew he was hoping that they had in fact, decided to name her after him.

"Yes, we have," said John. He looked at Mary, "Should we tell them?" Mary nodded her agreement and so John said slowly, "Her name is going to be Violet Abigail Watson."

Sherlock's smile began to envelop his whole face and we all laughed at him. "Oh guys, it's beautiful!" I said, "he thinks so too, but can't quit grinning like an idiot long enough to say it," i remarked with a gesture at Sherlock.

"Thanks Amy," said John as he stroked Mary's head lovingly.

"Do you want to see the nursery?" she asked.

"I would love to, if you are up to getting up," I said willingly.

"Well, little Violet has decided to use my bladder as a squeeze toy, so I need to get up anyways," she laughed. John helped her stand up and she and I walked down the hallway to a small room decorated in pink. Stuffed animals sat in a bassinet, and a rocking chair was under a window. A changing table was stocked and ready for use, and a bag for the hospital was prepared for Mary's departure. Everything was perfect and Mary left me to study every detail while she used the bathroom. She came back in to find me curled up in the rocking chair and rocking slowly back and forth.

She came over to me and said, "Hey, budge over, pregnant lady coming through." I giggled and scooted over. I didn't take up much room, but with the two of us, the chair was very squished. She hugged me and rocked back and forth. "Did you have any siblings before you came to live with us?"

"Well, when I was five, my mom had a baby boy. He died within his first year though, and that's why my mom and dad broke up."

"Oh Amy, I'm so sorry."

"It's alright, I never really knew him, and he was in the hospital for most of the time."

She hugged me tight. "You remind me a lot of me when I was your age," she said quietly.

"Really?"

"Yep, and look how I turned out." We giggled.

"I miss my mom," I whispered after a moment.

"I know Amy, I know." She pulled me even tighter as I began to softly cry. She stroked my hair until I regained my composure and sat up.

"You and John are going to be great parents, you know."

"Aw, thanks Amy. That means a lot. I am actually really scared though."

"About what? You obviously love her more than anything, and she isn't even born yet. Same with John, he looks at you two as if his heart could just leap right from his chest. Plus, you have Sherlock, and MRs Hudson, and me to all help you. We are always there."

She smiled and I helped her up from her chair and back down the hall to where John and Sherlock were still sitting in the living room, talking. John offered for us to stay for dinner, and so we ordered in Chinese food and all sat around talking and eating out of cartons.

When Sherlock and I finally went home, it was nearly eleven. Mrs. Hudson was already in bed, and sleeping, so we had to be really quiet going up the noisy stairs. Sherlock went to go take a shower, and I went upstairs to go change. I locked the door and pulled off my clothes, leaving me in just my bra and underwear. I walked over to the bed and pulled out the blade from under my mattress. I sat on my bed and held it in my clenched fist, while I studied my healing wounds.

God I needed this. I just needed one little tiny cut, just needed to see the blood start to flow, to feel the pain, to make my head slow down with thoughts of my brother who I never really knew, my mom who I would never again know, and my dad who I wished I had never known. My head was spinning faster and faster, visions were flashing through my mind. I could see Sherlock looking at me in disappointment and shaking his head. I saw John sighing as he had to stich me up again, and the guilt began to overwhelm me. It would all go away if I could just slide this blade across my pale skin. Crimson on white, it was what I needed. I took a deep breath and brought the blade to my wrist. "I'm sorry Sherlock," I cried.


	9. Chapter 9

Slowly, stroke after stroke, I pulled the blade across my skin and felt the familiar ripping sensation that made me relax. The blood began forming and dripping from my arm. I grabbed a tissue from the nightstand and caught the droplets before they could reach the bedspread. I made sure not to make them too deep, because I didn't need to pass out from blood loss right now, I just needed to take my mind off of everything. The silent tears ran down my cheeks and fell onto my arms, mixing with the blood.

I had to go back to school, which means I probably would have to take a gym class, which means I would have to change in a locker room, which means everybody would see my scars. 'Shit, that cut was a little too deep,' I thought and put the blade on the tissue, giving my burning arms a break. I was going to be the weird girl in school. Everyone always thought that I was a freak because I never had many friends, and would much rather sit back and watch silently than talk. It was all going to happen again, and I couldn't stop it. I owed Mycroft this, at least to try.

I shivered and slid off of the bed, onto my knees. I wiped the tears away with the back of my hand and put the blade back in its hiding place. I used the tissue to try and clean up my arms a little bit before standing up and walking over to the full length mirror that hung on the back of the door. I studied myself as I turned. I was getting really skinny. Unhealthily skinny, but I never wanted to eat. I just was never hungry. Next, John would be asking me if I was anorexic, and that was the last thing I needed right now, so I made a mental note to up my calorie intake a little bit.

I looked at the fading cut on my stomach and sighed, trying to ignore the fact that it was there. My thighs were gross with all of the ripped flesh dying and the black stiches weaving in and out of the skin. My arms looked the worst, but that was because they were fresh. I turned and looked over my shoulder at my backside. My hip bones were very apparent, as was my backbone. I faced the front again and moved closer to the mirror to study my face. Black streaks were running along my cheeks and my eyes were red from crying and lack of sleep. My cheeks and eyes had become sunken in and my lips were chapped.

I finally became so disgusted with the image that I just walked back to my bed. I pulled on Sherlock's shirt over my bra and underwear before climbing between the sheets. Burying my nose in the fabric of the shirt, I inhaled deeply and smiled a little bit. It was comforting, the smell. I closed my eyes and tried to sleep. Finally, after some time I did.

I woke up when it was still dark outside, and sat up, hugging my knees. I was shivering cold, and needed to go do something. I quickly stripped all of what I was wearing off, and got redressed in sweats and a sweatshirt. I pulled on my shoes, grabbed my iPod, and hurried downstairs, making no noise. I found that if you slid down the banisters, you could avoid the creaking stairs, and so that is exactly what I did. When I opened the front door, a blast of cold air hit me, causing me to inhale sharply. I pulled my hood over my head after tucking my hair in, and began to run.

I ran to the park where I had met Will the other day, and started to go around and around the sidewalk that circled the park. I usually didn't like running, but today it felt good, and I was fast. I sped by the other joggers who were up this early, blasting my music in my ears to the point where it almost hurt. I barely felt my feet hit the ground. I finally stopped to catch my breath, and collapsed onto a bench, breathing hard, and sweating. I watched the cars go by, and counted how many of each color I saw. When I was back to normal, I stood up and began walking home, passing a man who was doubled over and breathing really hard. I stopped and said, "Excuse me sir…are you alright?" He looked up at me and smiled. "Oh, Lestrade," I said, "I didn't know that was you."

"How are you Amy," he laughed. "What are you doing up this early?"

"I could ask you the same. I just woke up and couldn't sleep."

"I come running every morning. Does Sherlock know you are out here?"

"No, I am pretty sure he was asleep, and since that is a rarity, I figured I shouldn't wake him up."

"Well, you shouldn't be out here, at least not on your own. Did Sherlock tell you about our newest victim? She came in last night. She is your age Amy…"

"Oh my gosh…same thing?"

"Yes, and she was at home by herself just for an hour. Her parents are devastated."

"I'm sure they are…" by this time the sun was coming up and a new day was starting, with people bustling about, and cars filling the streets.

"You want to grab some breakfast?" Lestrade asked. "My treat!"

"Sure, thanks much," I smiled. We started walking toward a small diner that wasn't very far away, and had amazing oatmeal according to Lestrade. When we entered the place, the smell of freshly baked treats and delicious food hit me nose. A nice waitress led us to a small table in the corner and took our drink orders. Lestrade got some coffee and I got orange juice.

"You should text Sherlock and let him know you are here with me, safe and sound," he suggested.

"I don't have a phone, but I would."

"Hmm, alright, then I will," he said as he pulled out his phone and quickly typed something in before sending it. The reply was almost immediate and Lestrade held out his phone so that I could see the message.

'Thank you. I didn't even know she left. Keep her safe or I am holding you accountable.

-SH'

"He really cares about you," he said before lifting the coffee to his lips.

"The feeling is mutual," I replied before the waitress came up to get our orders. We both ordered oatmeal, but Lestrade got his with raisins in it. He also requested some eggs, and I got a cheese Danish.

"So Sherlock tells me that you are starting school on Monday. Are you excited?"

"Ugh, no," I groaned. "The only reason I am is because Mycroft wants me to, and I owe him," I groaned.

"Well, I'm sure you will do fine and maybe even enjoy it. Pretty girl like you, you must have all of the guys pining over you."

I laughed, "Not really, I'm more of the loner type. I am not much of a people person."

"Well neither is Sherlock," he laughed. "That's probably why you two get off so well." We sat and munched on our meals talking about this and that. He told me about his kid and his ex-wife, and I told him my story. I ended up really enjoying talking to him, and the oatmeal was exquisite. He walked me back to Baker Street when we were done, where I thanked him for the meal, and we said our goodbyes.

As I turned to go inside, I said, "Thanks again for the meal, I'm sure I will see you soon!"

"See ya kiddo," he said and waved before getting in a cab and driving off.

I walked up the stairs and heard the shower running, so I went and plopped in John's chair with the anatomy book again, continuing from where I left off. I became so immersed in it, that I didn't hear Sherlock come out and sit in his chair across from me. When I looked up, he was studying my face and was fully dressed and ready. He was wearing a purple shirt today, and his black pants again. His hair was still damp, so it wasn't as curly as it normally was. I felt like his blue eyes were staring right inside of me.

"Nice of you to tell me you were going out for a run," he said finally.

"Well, I thought you were asleep and didn't want to wake you." I said. "I'm sorry."

"Just, just don't do it again, and we are fine alright?" I nodded. "Oh yes, Lestrade told me you didn't have a phone," he said as he reached over to the desk and grabbed a small box before handing it to me. I was completely taken aback at the smart hone that sat nestled in some tissue paper.

"Oh Sherlock, thank you! You didn't have to do this."

"Yes, I know, but I need a way to keep in contact with you and you need to be able to reach me in case of an emergency, so it really was practical when you think about it. I have put John, Mary, Lestrade, Mycroft's and my numbers all in it. You can add whoever else you want. You have unlimited data I think, because I put you down for whatever I have, and I never seem to run out."

I smiled and reached over to hug him, and he returned the gesture. "Now," he stood up and straightened his collar, "go shower and get ready. There has been another murder, and we have to go down to the morgue again."

"Will Molly be there?" I giggled, avoiding his smack that was directed at me before running up the stairs, still giggling. I grabbed my stuff and took a superfast shower, not bothering to shave. I brushed my teeth and ran a comb through my hair before pulling it back from my face in a French braid. I threw on some clothes and went back into the living room. Sherlock was sitting at the dining table and studying something under a microscope. I had my phone in my back pocket and was ready to go. I grabbed my jacket and Sherlock pulled himself away from the microscope and strode over to pull his long coat and scarf from the hook. We went downstairs and got in a cab to St. Bart's. "How was breakfast?" Sherlock questioned me.

"It was really nice. Lestrade is a great guy."

"Yes, he is," he agreed but he looked like he was worlds away deep in thought. "What did you order?" he asked coming out of his thoughts.

"Um, oatmeal and a cheese Danish. They were super yummy."

"That's good. I'm glad to hear you actually ate."

"Yeah, I need to gain some weight back. I am pretty skinny."

"So I have noticed."

"Have you got this case figured out yet?" I asked.

"Well like I said, I know who is behind it, but we have no hope of finding him unless he gives us a clue. James Moriarty is not one to slip up and make mistakes."

"How many murders is this now?"

"Five people dead, five to go. This girl was young. I think she is around your age," he said concernedly.

"Yeah, that's what Lestrade said. Poor girl, and her parents too." Sherlock said nothing, but stared out the window thoughtfully.

"Knock on wood, but you haven't had an attack in a few days."

"Yeah, it feels good. I feel safer now that I am with you guys, and it is truly helping."

"I'm glad to hear. Have you um, you know?" he asked.

"No," I said shifting in my seat.

"Ok, I totally know you are lying, but all I'm going to say is, is it bad?"

"No, they're fine," I replied. He nodded and we pulled up to the hospital. We paid the cabbie and went in and to the morgue. Molly was waiting, and Lestrade, but no John. 'I wonder where he is,' I thought to myself but didn't say anything. Sherlock strode right over to the table and pulled out his magnifying glass as Molly pulled the blanket covering the girl down. I didn't really want to see this time, so I went over to the office and sat in one of the chairs, occupying myself by playing with a pen.

"Hey kiddo," Lestrade came and sat next to me. "Don't feel like seeing today?"

"No, not particularly. It's scary that she is my age."

"Yeah, but you can't dwell on it. It's ok that you don't want to see. I will hang out with you until they are done." We watched Molly and Sherlock move around the body, Sherlock studying every detail, and Molly jotting down this and that on her clipboard. At the same time, they both turned almost bumping into each other.

"Oh, sorry," said Molly as she blushed. They both tried to sidestep each other, and ended up going the same way.

"Sorry Molly," Sherlock muttered. He put his hands on her shoulders directing her one way, while he went the other. They both sighed when they finally passed each other, and Lestrade and I looked at each other and chuckled knowingly. Sherlock's phone began to ring, and when he answered it, his face paled.

"Sherlock, what's the matter?" I asked.

"It's John, Mary is going into labor. She is having the baby early," he said blankly.

"Are they coming to this hospital?" I asked Molly who nodded in response. "Well let's go upstairs and meet them," I said grabbing Sherlock's sleeve and tugging him out the door. Lestrade and Molly followed close behind after Molly tugged off her lab coat. We got in an elevator and rode up to the Birthing Center. Sherlock was pale, shaking and silent, and Molly was trying to talk to him and calm him down.

"She's early though, will she be alright?" he asked worriedly.

"Both Mary and the baby will be fine Sherlock," Molly said comfortingly, and patted his shoulder. I was bouncing up and down on my toes excitedly. Mary was going to have a baby!


	10. Chapter 10

Sherlock paced up and down in the lobby as we waited for Mary to arrive. When she came around the corner being pushed in a wheelchair by John, Sherlock heaved a sigh of relief. Mary's hand was resting on her stomach and her face was contorted in pain. John's hair was a ruffled mess, and his eyes were frantic. Slung over his shoulder was Mary's hospital bag that had been sitting in the nursery, and her pillow was stuffed under one of his arms. Molly and I rushed over to help her and Sherlock watched on anxiously, not quite sure what to do.

"Hey all," Mary said forcing a smile, but wincing in pain at a contraction.

"Mary, are you alright?" Sherlock asked worriedly.

"Well besides the fact that I am having a child pushed out of a place God only meant to be treated nicely, yeah, I'm dandy. Will someone please smack him for me?"

Lestrade did not hesitate to comply with Mary's request, and smacked the back of Sherlock's head with the palm of his hand. When John finished talking to the receptionist, he turned back to us and ran a hand through his hair, ruffling it even more. He mumbled a brief hello before pushing Mary off down the hall after a nurse, forgetting Mary's bag and pillow completely. I picked them up and followed them down the hall with Sherlock, Lestrade and Molly all trailing behind me.

I reached the room just seconds behind Mary and John, and they were already transitioning Mary to the hospital bed. I went and placed the bag on a chair, and stood there holding the pillow waiting for somebody to tell me what to do with it since I had no clue. Finally, the nurse turned and grabbed it somewhat roughly, earning a look of anger from Sherlock. She fluffed it and placed it behind Mary was squeezing John's hand and groaning in pain.

"This baby is coming fast," the nurse said to nobody in particular. Then she looked at me, "Are you their daughter?"

"I, um, I'm…" I started, but was cut off by Mary, who managed to say,

"She can stay. Please stay Amy, I need a girl, not just my husband over here who looks like he is having a panic attack." I glanced over at John, who sure enough was bent over, hands on his knees, hyperventilating. I nodded in agreement and went to stand next to her beside the bed. Molly and Lestrade were trying to pull Sherlock back to the lobby, who was in turn, trying to get into the room. Finally, he broke away from them and sort of leaped across the room to John. He whispered something to him, and John nodded in response. Sherlock rubbed circles on his back, like he did for me during my panic attacks. Even though he was obviously scared and was very pale, he was still helping John first. I smiled, but the smile soon left my face when Mary grabbed my hand….hard.

"Another contraction," the nurse said. Molly and Lestrade left Sherlock, and went to the waiting room. Sherlock went to the chair where I had put the bag, and picked up the bag and sat down placing the bag in his lap. John was on the other side of Mary and was holding her other hand.

I caught Sherlock's eye, and mouthed 'what did you say to him?' He shook his head and hugged the bag closer for comfort. After about five or so minutes, a doctor entered the room. They had her change into a hospital gown in the bathroom leaving John, Sherlock, and I in silence for a few minutes. Mary was in between contractions and could actually converse with him when he asked her questions. HE said she was about seven centimeters dilated, and this baby was coming fast. The contractions were about three minutes apart now, and just as he had finished talking to her, another one started. John was comforting her, and reminding her about all of the breathing tips they had learned. I felt hopeless, holding Mary's hand and stroking circles on the back of it with my thumb. I said a silent prayer that she and the baby would both be fine.

More doctors and nurse bustled in and out of the room, occasionally checking her, sometimes adding or fixing something on her IV, and sometimes they just wrote something on the clipboard hanging at the end of the bed. Mary mumbled something about being thirsty, and Sherlock was out of the room, and back with ice chips faster than believable. He handed them to John who in turn coaxed Mary to suck on a few of them. She had just taken a big piece in her mouth, when a particularly bad contraction occurred, causing her to spit the ice across the room and yell profanities. We all started to laugh uncontrollably, causing Mary to add us to the list of things she was cursing.

We dealt with this for a little under and hour, when the doctor came in, checked her, and announced that it was time to push. Mary's face paled and she looked at John. "I can't do this, I just can't. Help me." Her voice cracked and she looked as though she was on the verge of panicking.

"Mary, honey, listen to me. You will do just fine. I promise. Soon, we will be a family, and all of this will be over. Trust me. You just have to push hon. Can you do that?" Mary nodded and squeezed our hands tightly before contorting her face, and pushing. Her yelling made me want to cry, it sounded like she was in so much pain. Sherlock was continuously ruffling his hair, squeezing the bag in his lap, and chewing his lip.

"Push, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, and rest, 2, 3, 4, 5," the nurse said over and over. I had no clue how Mary was doing this. John moved so that he could see what was going on down there. He was a doctor, and this surely had to be nothing new, but you would have thought he was a four year old looking at an amputated limb. I thought for sure he was going to be sick.

Over and over again Mary pushed until the doctor announced, "The baby's head is crowning. Keep pushing Mary!" Mary yelled and pushed once, twice more and suddenly, Mary's cries weren't the only ones bouncing around the room. Mary started crying, and I soon lost it. Even John teared up when they lifted his baby girl up to show him. Sherlock stood open mouthed, taking in everything in awe. He came to stand beside me and placed his hands on my shoulders, enveloping them as we watched the doctor clean off little Violet. They placed her in Mary's arms who at this time, was near sobbing. John had one arm wrapped around Mary, and the other was stroking Violet's head.

Soon, John and Sherlock (who was going whether he was invited or not) went to go bathe Violet, leaving Mary and I to deliver the placenta. This was a piece of cake compared to a baby, according to Mary. The doctors stitched her up, and allowed her to pull on a nightgown she had brought with her. I brushed and pulled her hair back from her face from her, and when I was down went to go find her some food. When I returned with some mac and cheese and a piece of cake from the cafeteria, John and Sherlock had returned with Violet who was now comfortably nursing in Mary's arms. Sherlock seemed to be standing guard, so I put the food on the table, and went out to see Lestrade and Molly. They were both reading magazines when I came into the waiting room.

Lestrade didn't notice me until Molly said, "Hey Amy, how's Mary doing?"

"She's fine, and so is the baby," I smiled.

"Good," said Lestrade. He looked tired and stressed. He probably needed to go home and sleep.

"Can we go see them yet?" asked Molly.

"You haven't seen them yet? Well, yeah, I think it's fine, let's go." They set down their magazines and followed me down the corridor to the room. BY now Mary had stopped nursing Violet and was watching Sherlock with a frown as he carried Violet back and forth across the room. He had obviously already stolen her child from her. "C'mon Sherlock, give the poor woman her child back," I said, poking him in the side. Reluctantly, he gently set Violet in Mary's open arms. Molly and Lestrade went over and were cooing over the tiny girl.

She had clenched her hands in fists and was waving them about defiantly. Well, I should have known she would have attitude considering the three people who would raise her. I just never expected it to start so soon. Her tiny blonde curls were so small and fine, you would have thought it was doll's hair. I went to stand next to Sherlock whose eyes had never left Violet. "Attached so soon, are we?" I asked elbowing him in the side. He grunted and elbowed me back.

"She is the daughter of my best friends. Of course I care about her."

"Sherlock, she is less than two hours old, and you have already stolen her from her mother," I pointed out.

"Well," he said grasping for a foothold in my argument, "…she smells good," he finished.

"She smells good? Wow, somebody write this down, Sherlock Holmes does not have a comeback!" I giggled. He rolled his eyes and smiled looking at John stroking his tiny daughter and kissing his beautiful wife. I smiled too, because they just looked so happy, that you couldn't help but feel happy too. A nurse entered the room to check on everyone and Sherlock stiffened when she picked up Violet. I had never seen him act like this about anyone, and a teeny tiny part of me was jealous. That was absurd of course, Violet might as well be his own flesh and blood, but I really wanted him to look at me like that. I wanted him to love me as much as he loved the little baby whom he had just met for the first time that day.

The nurse left, and Molly and Lestrade followed her, saying that Mary needed some rest. Sherlock sat on the chair, and John sat on the bed with Mary and their baby, so I was left standing awkwardly. Finally, I just plopped down cross legged on the floor. Sherlock noticed and cleared his throat, trying to get my attention. I looked up at him and he scooted over and patted the small place left in the chair next to him. I smiled and got up to sit next to him. Even though I am really small, it was a bit squished. He wrapped his arms around me a hugged me. This was so unlike him. He only did this if I was having an attack. I wasn't about to complain though, and snuggled up close to him. I was happy. I felt loved.

The way I felt toward Sherlock was unlike anything I can explain. It was not even close to anything romantic that was for sure. He wasn't really a father figure either though. Maybe a big brother? I wouldn't know though since I never had had a big brother. I didn't care, it was good. We watched our friends cuddle and kiss each other and their new addition. I couldn't help but wonder if that was what my parents did when I was born. I could never picture them kissing though. Soon, my exhaustion overwhelmed me from having woken up so early, and I fell asleep on Sherlock's shoulder.

When I woke up, Sherlock was asleep with his head on mine. He was breathing deeply, and I wanted to avoid waking him, but I really had to pee. Mary was asleep also, and John and Violet were nowhere to be seen. I wiggled out from under him, moving his head to rest on a pillow. I went to the bathroom and fixed my hair. The bruising on my thighs was finally fading, providing some relief when the fabric of my jeans rubbed against them as I walked. When I finished in the bathroom, I went out to the receptionist to ask where John had gone. She said that Violet was being fussy, and John didn't want her to wake us up, so he took her for a walk. She had no idea where though, meaning I would have to go exploring to find him. I sighed and started off to the cafeteria to see if I could get a Starbucks or something.

I passed dozens of faces as I walked, but I didn't pay any attention to any of them. I t was dark outside, and a glance at my watch told me that it was almost midnight. I had been asleep for a while apparently. I glanced up to see a short man staring out the window and was bouncing a baby who was crying. I smiled and walked over to him. "Need some help there Daddy Watson."

He laughed, "Well good morning sleeping beauty. Are the other two princesses still sleeping?"

"Like babies…no pun intended." We laughed.

"Violet won't stop crying and I don't know why. I changed her, walked her, even sang to her, she ate less than an hour ago, I don't know what else to do," he sighed.

"She's beautiful…good job on making her."

"Thanks," he grinned. "Hey, you haven't held her yet, have you?" I shook my head. "Well then here," he said handing her to me. I smiled and pushed the hair back from her forehead. She had stopped crying now, and John was pleasantly surprised. "Guess all she needed was her Aunt Amy."

"Aunt?"

"Well, she has my sister Harry, but of course we aren't on the best of terms meaning you are the closest thing she has to an aunt."

"I have never been anyone's aunt…or sibling, or granddaughter, or cousin, or anything else for that matter. It was just me and mom and of course my father," I said with distain. John looked at me sympathetically, and then straightened up.

"So what are you doing wandering the halls?" he asked.

"Well actually I was going to look for you two, but figuring it was a lost cause, was searing to see if there was a Starbucks or something around here."

"I think there is one downstairs, a little past the lobby. Fancy a drink? I could use a coffee, now that I think of it."

"Sure, lead the way," I said motioning for him to go. I followed him, cooing at Violet who was staring at me with huge blue eyes. When we reached the coffee bar, John ordered a black coffee, and I got a latte. He insisted on paying for it, despite my attempts to buy my own. We went back up to our floor with our beverages, and found a small couch under a window to sit on. I gave him Violet back, and he rocked her back and forth.

"So what happened with your dad that you despise him so much exactly?" John questioned.

"Well, he was always drunk, and has been for as long as I can remember. He would throw my mom and I around, and then she finally left him. He had no visitation rights, and I hardly saw him until my mom passed. I had no other family, so it was either go live with him, or go to a foster home somewhere."

"Or runaway to London apparently," John teased.

"Well, that too. Anyways, he and I don't get along, and I hate him."

"I'm sorry Amy. That has to be horrible."

"I have learned to live with it," I shrugged my shoulders.

"Still, that doesn't make it any easier. How are your um, injuries?"

"They're fine. Healing up."

He nodded then, chugging back the rest of his coffee, stood up. "Well this little girl better go eat," he announced tickling her tummy. He walked off towards the room, and I stared out the window and sipped on my drink. It was still piping hot and every drink burned my tongue. I didn't even notice for a moment when Sherlock came and sat next to me. His hair was a mess and he had dark circles under his eyes. His normally perfect clothes were bunched and wrinkled.

"You look lovely," I said sarcastically. He yawned in response.

"That chair is bloody uncomfortable. Would you like to go home for the night? We can come back in the morning before we go shopping."

"Shopping? Shopping for what?" I asked.

"School supplies," Sherlock said. "We shouldn't even have to be doing that anyways, but at least Mycroft has offered to pay for it."

I groaned. Tomorrow was Sunday, and Monday was after that. Yuck. "He doesn't need to pay for my supplies," I objected. Sherlock held up his hand, cutting me off.

"It's payback for making you go at all," he smirked. I smiled and stood.

"So back to Baker Street then?"

"Alright then, back to Baker Street," he agreed, wrapping his arm around my shoulders as we weaved through the halls, making our way down to the elevator. In the parking lot, there was a group of not nice looking men, drinking and smoking who knows what. Sherlock directed me to the other side of him, effectively placing himself between the men and I. I smiled, and honestly felt as safe as I would have if I had an armed SWAT team with me. We made it back home and went to our beds. I was still tired enough that I could drift off to sleep, and so I did.

I woke up drenched in sweat, and was hyperventilating. I had a horrible nightmare about my mom and began to cry. I flung on the light, causing myself to fall out of bed. I laid on the floor, tangled in my blankets, regaining composure. When I could breathe, and stopped crying for the most part, I trudged downstairs to get some water. I filled a glass from the sink, and then went to the bathroom. I turned on the light and splashed some water on my face. I looked up in the mirror to see a tired and worried looking Sherlock standing in the doorway. "You ok Amy?" he asked, rubbing his eyes.

I shook my head and wiped my eyes. "Bad dream," I said dismissively. He came and hugged me.

"It's ok, it was just a dream."

"I know."

"Do you want to come stay with me tonight?" he offered. When he saw my confused face, he hurriedly back tracked, thinking he had said something wrong. "Well, I um, that's what I used to do when I was little and had a bad dream…I would go to Mycroft's bed and sleep with him."

I hugged him back reassuringly. "That's what I used to do with my mom too. Thanks Sherlock." We went and climbed in his bed, and I crawled under the good smelling sheets. We laid in the dark, silently. "You went to Mycroft's bed?" I asked finally catching what we said.

He laughed, "He was a rubbish big brother most of the time, but believe it or not, was there when I needed him. Now try to go back to sleep. Goodnight Amy, sleep well."

"Goodnight Sherlock," I mumbled, and sleep well I did.


	11. Chapter 11

I awoke several times throughout the night thanks to nightmares. Every time I sat up, covered in sweat, tears rolling down my face, Sherlock got up with me. He would hug me and tell me everything was ok while I told him about the horrible thing that overcame my mind whenever I closed my eyes. It took him stroking my hair and mumbling stories in my ear to coax me back to sleep. When I woke up screaming, it was light outside, and Sherlock was no longer in the bed. He came rushing back in seconds after my eyes got adjusted to the room. His hair was all over the place, curls in disarray, and his eyes were red from lack of sleep. A surge of guilt overwhelmed me when I realized that I probably had kept him up all night.

"Are you alright Amy?" he asked worriedly, reached across the bed to pull me near him like was a toddler who weighed nothing. He held me close and rocked me back and forth, wiping the tears from my cheeks. I nodded and curled up closer to him, trying to get my brain back down to the real world. When I was finally able to breathe normally and open my eyes without the room spinning, I sat back from Sherlock's arms. He looked at me concernedly, and narrowed his eyes. I nodded to let him know that I was alright and went to stand up. He helped me up and held onto my arm, making sure I was steady on my feet before following me out to the kitchen.

I plopped down on a chair and buried my head in my arms. The sun was hurting my head and I was exhausted. However, my day was lightened by the fact that I would get to go see Violet again. I looked up to see a steaming cup of tea in front of me and Sherlock staring at me from across the table. "Sherlock, I'm fine, really."

"Waking up in cold sweats throughout the night, and now screaming, is not fine. You want to tell me what this one was about?" I shook my head. "It might help."

"I know, but it is too much to think about."

"Alright," Sherlock nodded his head understandingly. "Are you still up for going shopping for your school things today? I can call Mycroft with some excuse about you being sick if you like."

"No, it's fine. I will be alright. I just need a shower, and I will be better." Sherlock tensed at this, because he knew exactly what was going to happen when I shut and locked the bathroom door. I would turn to the pile of clothes and soaps I brought with me, only to dig out a stained razor.

"Amy…" Sherlock started, but trailed off.

"Sherlock, I'm fine." I cut him off.

He watched me go upstairs, and when I came back down, he was gone. Maybe he was back in his room, maybe he had gone downstairs, I didn't know, and I really didn't care. I know it sounds horrible, but I didn't and I could only think about getting in the bathroom and dragging the blade across my arms.

I shut the door, and steamed up the room with scorching hot water. I closed the lid of the toilet, and shrugged my shirt off before sitting on it. I shivered at the chill when I leaned back on it. I did my usual debate about whether to go on or not, and of course, decided for it. I went deeper than I had in a while, but couldn't care less, and continued to do it. Soon, drops of crimson were falling on the floor in front of me, and I sighed in delight. I stripped the rest of the way, and hopped in the shower, wincing as I forgot how hot I made the water. The drain began to turn red, but too soon was running clear again as all the blood was washed away. I washed my hair, and did a quick shave on my legs and underarms.

I climbed out into a fluffy white towel, and patted myself dry, climbing into new clothes. I did a quick run over my arms with a tissue, mopping up any remains of blood. I threw my hair up in the damp towel, and brushed my teeth before going back upstairs to my room. Still no sign of Sherlock, and I wanted to apologize for being so short with him after all he did for me last night. After combing my hair and hiding the blade, I dropped on the bed sadly. I wished I could stop, but it was so helpful. It was like drugs that wouldn't permanently damage anything, but would still make the world stop momentarily, leaving me with only a red line for a week.

Before I knew it, I snapped out of my thoughts and sat up. My hair was dry and so I threw some money in my pocket for our shopping trip (joy) and my phone in the other. I trudged downstairs to Mrs. Hudson's to see if Sherlock was there. Her door was locked, so she was probably out though, and I stalked upstairs beginning to worry. He was sitting in his chair when I entered however, as if he had been there the whole time. He was cleanly shaved, and his hair was damp, so he had probably showered while I was up in my room. I walked over to sit in John's chair, and he opened one eye to look at me when the floorboards squeaked as I sunk into it.

"Sherlock…I'm sorry I snapped at you earlier, and I wanted to say thank you so much for helping me last night."

"You're welcome Amy, and don't worry about being rude. Heaven knows I have done my fair share of snapping at people," he smiled gently and patted my knee. "It is close to eleven, if you want to avoid the crowds at the store as much as I do, we should get going." I nodded my agreement and so we were off. About five hundred bags of paper, notebooks, pens, and a backpack later, we dropped everything off at Baker Street, and headed off to the hospital to see Violet and the proud Watson parents.

I sent a text to Mycroft, thanking him for paying for my supplies, and smiled when I saw the reply.

'Of course. I wish you all the luck on your first day tomorrow. Tell my dear brother hello.

-MH'

He signed his texts the same way as Sherlock did. "Mycroft says hello," I told Sherlock while we rode the elevator up to see the Watsons.

Sherlock grunted, "Well at least somebody besides our mother is contacting him." I smiled, but held my laugh because I didn't want him to get the satisfaction of my finding humor at Mycroft's expense. I rather liked Mycroft, and also enjoyed that it annoyed Sherlock that I did not feel the same way about his brother as he did.

Mary and I sat on her hospital bed while John and Sherlock went with the nurse to give Violet a bath because she had spit up all over herself and my shirt. Sherlock gave me his jacket to wear buttoned up, which was huge on me of course, but was better than the one full of Violet spit up. "Are you excited for tomorrow?" Mary asked.

"Well, not particularly, no. I mean, I am fine with the learning side of things, but I don't like the people stuff. I am perfectly happy on my own."

"Well, maybe this school will be different," she suggested. "Plus you could use some company besides Sherlock. Soon enough you will be as loony as he is." We both laughed.

"How are you recovering?" I asked.

"Pretty well, I mean as well as can be expected. Vi is doing really well for being five weeks early. I thought she would have a lot more complications, or would be in the NICU or something. But no, she is as precious and perfect as ever. She has John's temper however, God bless us all!"

"Well she looks like a perfect little angel to me," I said giggling.

"Even though she threw up on you?" Sherlock's voice came from the door.

"She is a baby. Babies puke," I answered turning his way. He grunted in amusement. We stayed and talked for an hour, then went back home so I could get my bag all ready, and choose my outfit for tomorrow. Of course, it was nothing special, just my normal long sleeve shirt and jeans. I figured I would wear my hair down, not only for style, but it was a place to hide when I didn't want to socialize. I spent the night with Sherlock again, and was awake for most of it, but when I did manage to sleep, it wasn't terrible.

I woke up to Sherlock having made breakfast for me, saying it would help my brain functioning. I shoveled it in, showered and dressed. When I was ready, Sherlock got in a cab with me and drove me to school. He hugged me and wished me a good day. A glance at my phone told me that Lestrade, John and Mary had also all done the same. I sent thank you's to all of them, and I really did appreciate that they cared enough about me to do that for me. I was blessed, and felt loved, but was still absolutely scared about this whole ordeal. Even though it was against my better judgment, I had shoved my blade in my shoe at the last moment in case of an attack. God I hoped I could make it through the day without one.

I stood under a tree, waiting for a bell to ring, signaling the beginning of the day. The first thing I had to do was meet the headmaster, then I would be off to my classes. I glanced at my watch. 7:59, the bell should be ringing any second…ah there it was. I picked up my bag and slung it over my shoulder, turning to face the front doors. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Here I go, a new chance to start over. I headed to the doors to begin my first day of school.


	12. Chapter 12

**Author's Note:**

_Hi guys, so I have never done an author's note on a story before, but really wanted to do one, so here I go. First off, this is my first fan fiction story ever, so I am sorry if it isn't as good as others. I never share my stories with anyone, no matter what they are about so I am completely blown away at the sheer number of views I have had. Thank you all so much for subscribing to my story and for the reviews. They make my day every time I get one! This story has been a great outlet for me, and I am going to attempt to try to update every weekend. Apologies if that doesn't happen. Anything you have to say to me whether criticism or praise is greatly appreciated. Thank you so much for this. PM me if you have any ideas for the story, or if you just feel like talking . Thank you again!_

_-irishgirl325_

ooOoo

When I walked in the school building, teenagers were bustling everywhere and shoving me this way and that. I pushed open the double door that led to the front office where two professionally dressed women were typing away at computers. One of the phones began ringing and the older one with gray hair and a sharp nose picked it up and answered it with a short hello. The younger one continued typing as if she didn't see me there waiting for her help. I cleared my throat to try to make it more apparent that I was standing there. She looked up from her computer evidently annoyed at me and said irritated, "May I help you?" 'Boy she sounds like a joy' I thought silently.

Then I said, "Yes, my name is Amy Holmes," I said remembering that my name had been changed to Holmes instead of Smith, "I'm a new student here, and am supposed to talk to Headmaster Phillips I think," I finished and glanced down at my paperwork so that we wouldn't have to make eye contact.

"Ah yes, Miss Holmes. Mr. Phillips has been expecting you," she pushed her chair back from her desk and walked over to a small gap in the desk that led back to the offices, "please follow me."

I pulled the strap of my backpack tighter over my shoulder and followed her trying to keep all of my thoughts about her and this stupid place to a minimum. Her skirt was perfectly tailored and matched her button up shirt. Her brown hair was pulled up in a bun with no stray hairs sticking out and her glasses that perched on the tip of her nose were held on her neck by a chain that went around her neck. We reached an office at the back filled with bookshelves and a small couch under a window. A large wooden desk with a computer and files scattered all over it was taking up most of the space in the room. I sat in one of the chairs in front of it.

"Mr. Phillips will be in momentarily, I am Miss Potter if you need anything," the lady told me right before she walked out of the room leaving me alone. I was going to thank her but the door was shut too abruptly. I scanned the room as I clutched my bag close to me. There were plenty of books but most of them were nonfiction and not of any interest to me. A picture of a woman and who I could only assume was Mr. Phillips was sitting next to the computer. The same woman only younger was in another picture with two children. She was attractive, and reminded me a lot of my aunt who died in a car crash when I was little. I picked up the picture so that I could study it closer when the door opened and a tall balding man sauntered in.

"She's pretty isn't she?" he asked in a deep voice gesturing to the frame in my hand. Embarrassed, is set in gently back on the desk while he went to sit in his chair across from me.

"Yes, she is," I replied.

"Hello Amy, I am Mr. Phillips," he said and reached across the wooden desk to shake my hand. I took his large hand which enveloped mine and shook it slowly, studying him. He seemed like a nice enough man, but there was something about him that I just did not like. Then again, I don't like most people so it could just be that I am antisocial.

"Hello Mr. Phillips, it is nice to meet you," I replied to his greeting.

"Welcome to Woodward Academy," he scanned over a folder which had all of my information and such in it. "I see that you seem to lack somewhat in your grades Amy. If you are not able to keep up with the curriculum, you might need to be enrolled in tutoring." I nodded my head not really knowing how to answer him and quite honestly, not wanting to either. He handed me a schedule and map. He told me the names of all of my teachers and showed me where their classes would be located. Occasionally he would pause to sip his tea and an awkward silence would fill the room. Our entire talk lasted for about fifteen minutes, and when it ended, he dismissed me and told me to go to my first class.

I went back into the front desk area and went to the lady who showed me to Mr. Phillips office. She gave me an excuse note for being late to class. I thanked her and asked her to tell me where the bathrooms were. She showed me the one closest to the science hall where my first class was located; Biology 1 with Mr. Reynolds. I thanked her again and left the office with both her and the other receptionist's stares burning the back of my head.

I made my way down white hallways and finally found the bathrooms. I ducked into it and went over to the sink. I wet my hands and then rubbed them on the back of my neck. Looking up at my reflection I sighed and stepped back. The dark circles under my eyes were apparent, even though I had tried to cover them up with makeup. My hair was done, and seemingly perfect, but I was still self-conscious about it. I smoothed it down and then glanced at my outfit. The jeans I was wearing were a little big on me considering how skinny and small I am. My blue long sleeved shirt fit however, but was hidden underneath my sweatshirt. Of course, I was wearing my Converse as usual. I pushed any feeling of panic down and grabbed my backpack before throwing a piece of gum in my mouth.

When I entered Mr. Reynolds' class, all eyes turned to me. Great, I really missed this. Ignoring all of the judgmental stares, I walked to Mr. Reynolds who was in front of the class standing in front of a chalkboard which he was scratching notes onto. "Um, Mr. Reynolds?" I tried to get his attention. He turned to look at me down his nose as he was quite tall.

"May I help you?" he asked. I could hear whispers all around me, and although the majority were probably not even concerning me, I felt that they all were just picking out every little flaw on me.

"Yes sir, I am Amy Holmes, I am new to Woodward, and you are my first class I think," I glanced down at the schedule which I had already read many times.

"Ah yes, Miss Holmes, I was told that you would be joining my class today. I believe there is an empty seat over there next to Adam," he pointed to a boy who was leaning back on his chair with his feet propped up on the seat which I would have to go sit on, "if you are too far behind in our curriculum, you may join me for lunch and we will go over what you have missed this semester." Ok, does everybody know that I had bad grades at my last school? I was actually really good at school, but I didn't want to try. I learned all I needed from books, and what they taught us at school was completely non-applicable to real life.

I simply nodded and said, "Thank you sir," before going over to my seat. Adam watched me the entire way with a grin smugly placed upon his lips. "Excuse me, I think this is my seat," I said meekly when I had reached him.

"Well actually, I think this is school property," he retaliated without moving an inch. His friends chuckled at him. Oh yeah, he was so hilarious.

"Adam, get your feet off of Miss Holmes' chair please," Mr. Reynolds said in a bored tone. Adam sighed and pulled his feet off the chair letting them plop loudly on the floor. I sat down and clutched my backpack on my lap. I pulled a paper and pen out and hurriedly scratched down all of the notes from the board. I heard snickers all around and could even swear a spitball hit me at one point. Pf course, I just kept my head down and doodled when I was finished taking notes, praying for the class to end. I was seriously debating whether or not to kill Mycroft. Sherlock would help me I know, and he would do it so I didn't get caught. I smiled to myself.

Somehow, I managed to make it through my History, Mathematics, and English classes before lunch. Each class held the same sort of people whispering as I just tried to stay busy and take notes. When lunch rolled around, it was no relief since that would mean that I would have to go sit in a room full of people who surely would be watching me, and judging me. I waited quietly in line for food and observed the people all around me with interest. The lunch ladies all looked very bored and were leaning on the counter as they served all of the loud and obnoxious teenagers their food. The cashier who waited at the end of the lunch line was continuously ringing up the total cost of the trays filled with crappy school food. A janitor was in the corner near the trash cans and was leaning lazily on a mop. He ogled at the girls who walked by him, talking and throwing their hair over their shoulder. 'Well he seems like a lovely man' I thought to myself.

All of my fellow schoolmates were sitting at their tables and it was obvious to see where the "cliques" were and who were in which ones. I awoke from my thoughts when someone pushed me from behind. The line had moved up and I was glued to the spot. I muttered an apology to the girl who had shoved me and received an eye roll in response. Sheepishly, I shuffled forward down the line. None of the food I was passing seemed particularly appealing to me and before I knew it, I reached the end of the line and all that was left was a salad bar. Reluctantly I scooped some lettuce onto my plate and poured some Italian dressing on top. Quickly, I moved on to the cashier as to avoid getting shoved again.

When she rang up my total, I pulled out the money I had from my pocket. "Oh no Miss Holmes, your account has money in it, and all of your meals are to be charged to it."

'Mycroft," I thought, shoving my money back into the pocket of my jeans. "Thank you," I said and gave her a fake smile to which she responded with an equally fake one. I scanned the room again, looking for an empty table. There were two, one by the trash cans that the janitor was loitering around even though there was plenty that he could be cleaning, and one by the door. Although it was November and cold outside, I would rather face the cold than the janitor's violating stares. I sighed and gathered my plate in one hand while adjusting my backpack with the other.

I kept my eyes down avoiding the stares I received as I passed each table as I made my way across the cafeteria. It felt as though I was walking miles just to go from one end of the room to the other, but eventually I made it to the table and plopped down with a sigh of relief. I sat my backpack at my feet and reached inside to find my book, brushing Sherlock's t-shirt which I had stuffed in at the last minute. I wrapped my hand around it and pulled it down, setting it on my lap. The_ Iliad_ which was the book I had decided to bring, I set to the right of my plate.

I turned my attention back to Sherlock's shirt and pulled it up to my chest, breathing in the comforting scent. I frowned when I noticed how much it had faded and decided I would be needing a fresh shirt, but since I was too embarrassed to ask him for one, I would have to go get one from his room while he was out. Of course he would notice it was gone, I mean he's Sherlock, but he probably wouldn't question anything. I refolded the shirt and placed it back in my bag and turned to my book. I picked up my book and tried to focus my attention on reading, but it wasn't working. I shoved the bookmark in and stuffed it in my bag again angrily. It took a lot for me to not be able to get lost in a book and when I couldn't, it would usually effectively ruin my day.

I prodded the limp lettuce that the school had the audacity to name a salad and charge two pounds for. It was ridiculous! I lifted a bite to my mouth, but seeing the browning on the lettuce, decided against it and put the fork back on the plate. I tried to take my mind off of everything and imagine what Sherlock must have been like at school. I almost laughed at the prospect of a thin, curly haired teenager correcting the teachers, and accusing them of affairs. There must have been countless times when he made young girls cry and was beaten up because of things he would say about the jocks. I could just see him sitting in detention complaining about the uselessness of school. That was pretty much how I felt right now. I could be out with Sherlock right now learning more than any teacher could teach me. I mean Sherlock was like a freaking encyclopedia.

I gave up on eating, I mean I wasn't even hungry anyways as per usual, and stood, gathering my backpack and scooping up the plate. I began my way towards the perverted janitor and trash bins, only to feel a foot be shoved out under my legs, tripping me and sending my food flying across the floor and my sweatshirt. All at once, the cafeteria erupted into roaring laughter, all directed at the new girl lying on the floor in a puddle of lettuce and Italian dressing.

A rush of adrenaline was sent through me as I realized the sleeve of my sweatshirt had been pushed up and my cuts were showing. I shoved it back down, but saw a girl pointing at me and whispering to her friend. She had obviously seen. I felt like throwing up and a panic attack was coming on, I could feel it. I pushed myself up, not even bothering to help clean what I spilled and pushed my way through the crowd that had gathered to gawk and jest all while fighting back the burning tears that were threatening to spill over at any moment. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the girl and her friend get up to come follow me. Shit, shit, shit, this was not good.

I reached the bathroom and threw open the door with such force, it scared the redheaded girl who was washing her hand right out of the room. I walked to the sink that she had left running and gripped either side of it so hard that my knuckles turned white. I was constantly reminding myself to breathe and was just about to throw up when the door opened and two girls walked in. I turned off the faucet, brushed my tears away and stood up to face them. They were both standing there one with her arms crossed, the other with her hands on her hips, and both with ugly smug smiles plastered across their perfect faces.

"What do you want?" I asked failing at hiding the catch in my voice.

The girl that had originally seen my arm spoke up, "You're the new girl right?" She had an Irish accent.

"Yeah, her name is Amy," the blonde one piped up, "she was in my English class." I glared at them, refusing them the satisfaction of showing how upset I was.

"What do you want?" I repeated, this time through gritted teeth.

"You are one of those emo freaks aren't you?" asked the Irish one, "I saw your arm."

I said nothing but remained staring back defiantly despite the fact that I felt like melting through the floor. "You know, that is really ugly, all those scars. What boy will want to date a girl who cuts herself?" Blondie asked. Little did she know that was one thing that I feared most.

"Fuck off," I growled, clenching my fists tight.

"She probably is just an attention whore, and does it just so somebody will give a shit about her. Am I right? Are you just a little whore?" said the Irish girl. That was the last straw; I threw myself at her, throwing her to the ground. I pulled my arm back and slammed my fist into her nose, causing blood to gush out, ruining her perfect makeup. The blonde girl had tried weakly to pull me off her friend, but had given up and ran to the door calling for help.

I pulled myself away from the screaming girl clutching her nose and pushed past her friend out into the cafeteria where all eyes were facing us in silence. I glimpsed my bloody fist, and shoved it in the pocket of my sweatshirt as I ran towards the doors. I made it outside and saw a security guard starting my way and broke into a full out sprint the opposite direction and began to worry as I neared a fence. I held my breath and decided to try and jump it as it wasn't very high. I closed my eyes and almost yelled in joy when I felt my feet reach the ground on the other side.

I looked back at the guard who had stopped the chase and was speaking into a radio. I had just gotten myself in a boat load of trouble. Yep, Sherlock would definitely be kicking me out now. I just started running, with no real intent of going anywhere. I thought about going to Mary, but remembered that she had the baby and wouldn't need the burden of looking after me too. And so I just ran.

After about an hour (I was completely surprised I lasted that long) I reached a wall that ran along the Thames. I hopped up on the wall which was really thick allowing me to sit cross-legged on it. I put my bag beside me and pulled out Sherlock's shirt. Burying my head in my hands, I began to sob. I was never going to get a chance to get a fresh Sherlock shirt, I was going to be back on the street, or worse, back with my dad. I had ruined my chance of schooling, and was never going to get a job with no diploma. I sighed and wiped my eyes smearing eyeliner and mascara across my hand.

Pulling up my sleeves, I thought back to what the blonde girl had said. No boy would want to date me. Why would he when I am covered with scars? Well there's another thing I am never going to do; get married. "You got in a fight and ran away from school on your first day, now that has to be some record," I heard a deep voice from behind me say, causing me to jump and lose my balance, falling off the wall. Arms shot out and caught me before I hit the ground. I turned to see the face of Mycroft Homes staring sadly and worriedly. I leaned my head against his shoulder and completely lost it. I was sobbing with no intent to stop, and then Mycroft Holmes did something out of the ordinary and totally unexpected. Mycroft Holmes wrapped his arms around me and enveloped me in a huge hug. "What happened Amy?" he asked, his voice muffled my hair and my sobs that racked my body. I tried to answer but just couldn't stop crying.

After holding me and rubbing circles on my back similar to like what Sherlock would do, Mycroft was able to calm me down. "Now Amy, tell me what happened."

"I realized that I am a good for nothing emo whore," I replied, each word ripping my heart.

"Amy Smith!" Mycroft exclaimed, using my real name, "now what in God's name would make you say that about yourself?"

"I didn't say it, the girls at school did," I sniffed. Mycroft handed me a tissue that he pulled from his jacket.

"How did they even know about your…um…problem?"

"Well, I was going to throw away my food, and someone tripped me. I fell and my sleeve rode up. Two girls saw it, and I pray to God they were the only ones. Anyways, they followed me to the bathroom, called me some names, and I got mad and punched them," I finished looking down at my red and now bruising fist. Mycroft took it up in his hand and looked at it tutting.

"Well judging by the state of your fist, I would say it was probably a hell of a hit," Mycroft said, causing me to smile and even giggle. "That is beside the point," he said and straightened up, "first off, you are certainly not a whore. Secondly, everything those girls said was out of spite. They saw someone like you and they thought you were competition. They are insecure and stupid, and need to take out their insecurities on someone else. Unfortunately for you, you happened to be that someone for which I am truly sorry." Mycroft patted my hand and smiled reassuringly at me. I leaned over and rested my head on his shoulder.

"I hate girls," I sighed.

"People are mean regardless of gender, although yes, girls can be particularly hurtful." I nodded in agreement. "Sherlock has probably been called by the school by now, and will have told Detective Inspector Lestrade, so we had better get back before he has the entire Yard looking for you. You ready?" Mycroft held out his arm for me to take, and I linked my hand through his elbow and he escorted me around the corner to where his dark black car was parked.

He helped me in the back seat and climbed in after me, shutting the door. He offered me a bottle of water, which I accepted gratefully. I pulled out my phone and my eyes widened; 18 new messages and 5 voicemails?! I began scrolling through John's messages first, there were 5 of them.

"Amy, Sherlock told me what happened at school. You ok?"

"Amy, Sherlock is really worried about you."

"Please respond to us Amy."

"Ok Amy, cut the crap, call one of us please."

"Jesus Amy! Are you ok? We are worried sick! Please tell me you are ok!"

I didn't reply, but moved on to Mary's single message.

"Amy, what's going on? Are you alright? I heard you got in a fight at school and ran away? Do you need to talk? You can come here if you need, I won't tell Sherlock."

I cracked a smile at hers and went onto Lestrade's.

"Amy, Sherlock has me calling the whole bloody station to go look for you. What's going on?"

"Ok, Sherlock is going a little insane. Please come back before he strangles Anderson."

"Amy, I am getting worried too now. Call me please."

I sighed, now for the big one, Sherlock's.

"Amy, the school called, where are you and I will come get you?

-SH"

"What happened at school? They said you got in a fight?

-SH"

"Amy, why aren't you responding?

-SH"

"Listen, I got you that phone so I could contact you when I need to, now bloody answer me!

-SH"

"Amy, are you ok? I am getting concerned.

-SH"

"I called John, he is driving around looking for you now.

-SH"

"Fine, you leave me no choice, I am calling Lestrade.

-SH"

"I am going to kill Anderson in a moment. Please tell me you are alright.

-SH"

"I swear, I am going to call Mycroft in a moment…

-SH"

The last message was received two minutes ago. I moved on to the voicemails. The lady on the phone said in her monotone voice, "You have five new messages."

Sherlock's voice filled my phone, "Amy, the school called, the said you got in a fight and ran off. Tell me where you are and I will come get you and we can talk about this." The message ended and I hit the button to delete it, putting it back to my ear.

"Hi Amy, it's John. Sherlock called me and said you ran away from school. He is worried about you. Call me back, bye."

I deleted it and moved on to the next one.

"Hey Amy, it's Lestrade. Sherlock is freaking out and came to the station demanding that I send the entire station out after you. He is getting really antsy and, HEY! Sherlock, Anderson, break it up! Sally, will you take Anderson back to the break room? Yes, Sherlock I figured you had probably called her, I am just trying again, alright? Amy, I have to go contain the beast, please call one of us. Bye." He hung up, and I went on after deleting it as well.

"Amy, it's John again. I am driving around looking for you. I am starting to worry and Lestrade said Sherlock is going mental. Please call us. Please? Bye Amy." I bit my lip and started to listen to the latest message. Mycroft had been studying my face the whole time I was going over all the messages and he frowned when he saw the pained expression and lip biting that John's message had caused.

"Hi, um, it's Sherlock. Listen Amy, I am really worried about you. I don't blame you for the fight and I am not angry, God knows I got in plenty of them," my thoughts flashed back to the Sherlock I had imagined sitting in detention. "Amy, I care about you and don't want you to be in trouble. You don't have to go back to school if you don't want. I know you took a blade with you today and I can only picture you sitting in an alley all by yourself, hurting yourself…or worse. Please call me and tell me I am wrong. You see I don't let myself go there with this stuff, but I can't help it and it is scaring me. Amy, just tell me you are alright? Um, just please call me and tell me you are ok." I heard the voicemail lady come on and instead of deleting it like the others, I saved it. I looked up to Mycroft who was frowning and holding out another tissue. I hadn't even realized I was crying until now and wiped my eyes which were now puffy and probably red.

"Everything alright?" Mycroft asked. I nodded and leaned my head against the window. Before I knew what was happening, the exhaustion from the day overtook me and I fell into a half sleep as we drove to the station. I faintly remember Mycroft placing his jacket over me like a blanket. Next thing I knew, the car stopped, and Mycroft's door opened. I heard Sherlock's voice and Mycroft tell him something. My door opened and strong arms lifted me out. With a lot of effort, I opened my eyes to see Lestrade's silver hair and face that looked stressed, and yet relieved at the same time.

"Hey kiddo, you ok?" he asked with a half-smile. I nodded and yawned. Suddenly, and shadow fell upon me and I opened my eyes to see a familiar tall figure standing over us.

"I can take her from here, thank you Geoff."

"It's Greg," he mumbled and slid his arms out from under me as he handed me to Sherlock." The familiar smell washed over me and I smiled.

"Hey, Sherlock," I mumbled still half asleep.

"Hello Amy," he replied in a steady voice. "You look like shit, we had better get you home. Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I am now," I said and snuggled deeper into his jacket. "Where is Mycroft?"

"He is calling John."

"Will he come back to Baker Street with us?"

Sherlock groaned quietly. "And why exactly do you want the British Government to come to our flat?"

"'Cause," I murmured groggily.

"Fine." I could tell he wanted to make me happy and he called Mycroft over.

"Yes brother dear?" I heard Mycroft say when he finally made is way to us.

"Amy is insisting you come back to Baker Street."

"Well I would be happy to oblige," Mycroft said somewhat sarcastically.

"Happy now?" Sherlock asked. With my eyes still closed, I nodded and smiled. The three of us climbed into a cab and I happily sat between the two Holmes brothers with my head on Sherlock's shoulder and Mycroft's coat still draped around me.

"Sherlock?" I asked.

"Mhm?"

"I'm tired," I said.

"Then sleep," he replied chuckling. And so I did.


	13. Chapter 13

_Hey Guys! Sorry if this chapter is a little boring, it is mostly just some establishing of facts so that I can move on with the mystery part of the story. This story has been a much needed outlet for me, so thank you all for making it worthwhile. Please review and let me know what you think! Love you all! Have an awesome weekend._

I was lying across Sherlock's lap with my head on a pillow when I opened my eyes to find myself looking at the Holmes brothers having a stare down. Both dared not utter a word but their eyes said it all. Mycroft had an amused smirk on his face which in turn pissed Sherlock off and caused his eyebrows to furrow. John was also there, sitting in his chair typing on his laptop. Sherlock and I were seated on the couch and Mycroft was in Sherlock's seat which was probably not helping Sherlock like him anymore. I mean, I am even Molly probably wouldn't be allowed to sit there.

Anyways, Mycroft was the first to notice I was awake and smiled down at me breaking the staring contest. Until he realized I was awake, Sherlock took this to mean that he had won the stare down causing him to smile triumphantly and unfurrow his eyebrows. He followed Mycroft's gaze down to me and said somewhat unhappily, "Oh, you're awake." I sat up and stretched out before answering.

"And it is marvelous to see you too Sherlock." He shot me a look and went back to staring at Mycroft who seemed uninterested making Sherlock stare mostly at his forehead. This didn't seem to bother the detective, nor deter him and so he continued right on staring.

"Do you feel better now that you slept?" John asked, closing his laptop and coming over to sit on the other side of me and sandwich me between himself and Sherlock.

"Yeah, much better. How long was I out?" I

"Just around an hour," Sherlock responded, not looking away from Mycroft who only rolled his eyes.

"Fine Sherlock you win, now will you kindly avert your eyes from my brow?" he snorted.

He grinned, evidently proud of himself and looked down all attention suddenly directed on me. "Do you want to tell us what happened?" he inquired.

John positioned his arm around me protectively, and I scooted closer to him, afraid that Sherlock was going to become angry at the fact that I got in a fight and ran away. I mean, if I was him, I know I would be. "Not really," I mumbled quietly. Sherlock looked at Mycroft, obviously wanting him to answer since I was not.

Mycroft stood and gathered his things, preparing to leave, ignoring Sherlock's stare. I still had his coat wrapped around me and went to shrug it off before he held his hand up stopping me. "Keep it," he said, "I have more than one coat and you seem to be comfortable."

"Thanks…for everything," I smiled. He returned my smile and walked over to me, still ignoring Sherlock's gaze. They seriously acted like five year olds. Then, Mycroft Holmes surprised everyone for the second time that day. He kissed the top of my head before biding us goodbye. Sherlock remained silent, John returned the goodbye, but sat with his mouth hanging open after the door shut. I just smiled and nestled closer to John. I was quite happy between two of the people I trusted most in the world.

Sherlock placed his hands in the usual under his chin position and said to John, "You know you will catch flies with your mouth hanging open like that." John closed his jaw, and looked at me.

"He just kissed your head. Mycroft Holmes, the British government, just kissed your head."

"You missed the hug earlier," I chuckled.

"He hugged you too?!" he asked in astonishment.

"Yep," I replied. John shook his head.

"Will you at least tell us where you went after you ran away?" Sherlock asked.

"Down to a wall by the Thames I found."

"Oh, by the way I went by your school to see if they had any information on you before we found you, and the girl you got in a fight with was in the office," John stated, "good punch!" he winked. "Mary would be proud."

"Thanks!" I grinned. Even Sherlock managed a smile before returning to his thoughts. "What time is it?"

"Um, almost four," John replied after looking at his phone. "I had better get home to Mary and Vi." John got his coat and hugged me goodbye before heading out the door leaving Sherlock and I by ourselves.

"I am glad to see that you are ok," Sherlock whispered.

"Sorry I didn't check my phone. I had it on silent from school and didn't know you texted and called."

"Understandable." We sat in silence, both lost in thought. "Did you ever hurt yourself today?"

"Surprisingly, no I didn't."

"Good. Did anybody try to hurt you?"

"No."

"Good, both for your sake and theirs." I smiled and leaned against his shoulder. "Amy, I just about went crazy when I found out you were missing. I have never acted like that before. It scared me. Mycroft always said caring was not an advantage and I can see why. Please don't do that again."

"Ok. I'm sorry I scared you Sherlock. I was scared too until Mycroft found me."

"You like him better than me, don't you?"

"Sherlock Holmes, are you jealous of your brother?" I giggled.

"No," he snapped.

"No Sherlock, I do not like him better than you," I reassured. "Now, I am going to go for a walk and clear my head," I announced. He didn't like the idea, I could tell, and he narrowed his eyes.

"Didn't you get enough air already today?"

"I suppose so, but I just need to be out."

"Fine. Be careful and keep your phone on."

"Yes mom," I teased, causing him to throw a pillow at me. I stalked downstairs, still wearing Mycroft's coat, which I didn't realize until I was out the door. I went to the park again and began walking around the sidewalk, kicking a rock.

I had been walking for only maybe ten minutes when a voice from behind me said, "Hey there!" I turned to see Will behind me, smiling. "Nice jacket," he pointed.

I laughed, "Thanks, it's my cousin's."

"The one you are living with?" he questioned.

"His brother."

"Ah, well cool!" I laughed again.

"So…you started at my school today," Will said.

"You go to Woodward?"

"Yeah," he chuckled running his hand through his hair.

"So you saw the whole thing?"

"I think everyone saw. I was coming to ask you to sit with me when it happened actually."

I buried my face in my hands mortified. Of course he saw. Just my luck. "That's wonderful."

"Aw, don't sweat it. It could have happened to anyone."

"Yeah but it happened to me."

"So what?"

"Well falling and spilling salad all over yourself in front of everyone on your first day isn't the best way to make friends," I pointed out.

"Touché," he held up his hands surrendering. To my surprise, I was hungry and my tummy started to rumble. "Hungry?" Will chuckled.

"Apparently so," I shrugged.

"Want to go get some dinner with me?" he asked hopefully.

"Sorry, but I think Mrs. Hudson is making us dinner."

"Who's that?"

"Oh, she is our landlady, but more like a grandma to me."

"Well can we ever get dinner?"

"Um, well," this was the first time a guy ever asked me to dinner and I was a bit shocked and very, very nervous, "yeah, I guess that would be alright," I smiled and rubbed my arms over each other as if I was cold when in all reality, I was sweating partly from nerves, and partly because this coat was really warm.

"Great!" he said. "I think you are really hot." I blushed.

"I had better be getting home," I said turning to leave. I needed to get out of there before I started giggling like an idiot.

"Can I at least have your number?" he smiled.

Oh, yeah, right," I gave it to him and made my retreat before he asked anything else.

By the time I got home, I had a text from him saying, "Can't wait for dinner! See you soon!"

I smiled, and sent a reply. "Me too!" After I sent it I realized it really didn't make sense and slapped my forehead.

The next message was simply, "Your cute." I giggled but the grammatical error drove me a little bit crazier than it should have. Mrs. Hudson greeted me as soon as I went inside with a plate of cookies to take upstairs. Sherlock was playing his violin but as soon as I entered, he set it down on his chair.

"So who's the guy?"

"What?" I asked innocently.

"You were standing outside the door typing very intently on your phone and giggling like an idiot. You know, you look very stupid when you do that."

"You know, sometimes I wish you would just shut up Sherlock!" I slammed the plate of cookies down on the table and yelled, "Those are from Mrs. Hudson. Goodnight!" I ran upstairs and shut my door before going to sit my bed and scream into a pillow. 'Well so much for dinner,' I thought. I did feel bad for yelling at Sherlock, but he could tell I had problems getting on with people my own age. He sould be happy for me right? But noooo, he has to go and make me feel dumb for letting my emotions get the better of me. Oh well, he wasn't going to stop me from going to dinner with Will. He was a nice guy and wouldn't make me feel bad for liking him unlike some other people.

I scanned my room trying to find something to occupy myself with. My backpack was missing and that contained my book and blade, so both of those were out of the question as I was NOT going back downstairs with that psycho. I was limited to what was in my room and the only form of entertainment was my books. Oddly enough, I didn't feel much like reading tonight. I supposed that I could go out again, but again, that would require going back downstairs, and I don't think Sherlock would be overly fond of the idea of me leaving the flat again.

I shuffled over to the desk and went over my reading options again although I knew it was useless. Nope, nothing. I walked over to my bed again and flopped back on it, smacking my head on the wall in the process. "OUCH!" I said. I was already pissed off, but this didn't help anything at all. I smacked the wall where I hit my head and cursed it under my breath. As much as I loved Sherlock, and John, and Lestrade, and everybody, I really wished that I was back home. Not with my dad of course, but with my mom. I really missed her. Like, a lot.

Her 6 month anniversary was looming up on December 1, and I was dreading it. I always became really gloomy and depressed when the 1st of each month rolled around. Sucks for me, but my birthday was also November 1. That should be fun. Oh well, I wasn't really expecting a birthday this year. It's not like I had a ton of friends to have a big sweet sixteen with. 'Ha, wow I was really having a big fat pity party tonight.'

A knock sounded at my door and the knob turned, and Sherlock entered the room holding a tray 2 bowls of chicken noodle soup, a grilled cheese cut in half, and 2 glasses of milk. "You know just because you knock, you don't gain free access to the room," I snapped. He set the tray on my nightstand, not at all affected by what I said.

"Hey, I came in here to make up with you. I am sorry I said you looked stupid."

"Sorry I snapped at you…and yelled at you." I returned.

"Hungry?" he asked motioning to the tray of food.

"Surprisingly, yes."

"Good," he smiled and placed the tray between us and crossed his legs. He was already in his pajamas and was wearing socks with holes on his feet. "Mrs. Hudson threatened to come force feed us both if we didn't start eating regularly." He dipped the sandwich in his soup and took a bite out of it. I did the same and marveled at the taste of the chicken soup. It was so rich and hearty, and delicious.

"Nice socks by the way," I chuckled.

"Ah yes, I have been meaning to get rid of them, they are however, abnormally comfortable." He shrugged his shoulders. I spooned another mouthful of soup into my mouth.

"This soup is delicious!"

"Yes, Mrs. Hudson is an exceptional cook."

"Mhm." I agreed while chewing a mouthful grilled cheese.

"We had another murder come in today," he changed the topic.

"So four to go," I thought aloud. "What happened to this one?"

"Same thing, she was not as young as the last one, but she stood out."

"Why's that?" I inquired.

"Well, she had been missing for a few days before we found her. She was killed the same way of course, a cut on the neck causing blood loss, but when we found her in a warehouse, there was a note made in her blood."

"What did it say?"

His face turned grave and he looked at me solemnly. "It was a note I had seen before. It consisted of two words….Get Sherlock."

"What do you mean you have seen it before?"

His face became wiped of all emotion and his eyes became deep and quiet seeming. "I have not told you much about Moriarty have I?" he questioned. I shook my head and he sighed before beginning, "Moriarty is a spider and a consulting criminal. He is a villainous mastermind who he deems well enough for the fairytales. When I first heard of him, it was on John's first case with me. There had been a string of serial suicides and we finally tracked the killer down. He turned out to be a cabbie who attempted to get me to take the pills that had killed the others. I would have too, if John hadn't shot him. I asked him who his employer was, and he told me Moriarty."

He stopped for a breath and then continued. After a while, he contacted me and was having me solve cases in a limited amount of time. If I failed, he would blow somebody up with all of the explosives he strapped to their chest. When I met him, he had said explosives strapped onto John." This shocked me, but I remained silent. "He would have killed us too, but he got better offer and let us live another day. Turns out that the better offer came from a woman named Irene Adler who possessed some compromising photos of one of the royal family members. Anyways, I dealt with her and went for a while again without hearing from him. Then, he managed to break into the Tower of London, Pentonville Prison, and Bank of London. He was caught however, but left a note on some glass surrounding the crown jewels…"

"Get Sherlock," I whispered.

He nodded. "He was put on trial and found not guilty. Turns out he threatened the jury. Anyways, he visited me and led me on to believe that he had a computer code to open everything…sounds silly I know, I realized later it was a fake. He said he owed me a fall and left the apartment. IOU's began to appear everywhere throughout London. Months later, I solved a kidnapping case and the employees down at the yard began to believe I was a fraud because I was so good. Moriarty only added to this saying that he was in fact a man named Richard Brook who I hired to play Moriarty. She said all of the cases I solved were set up by me. Mycroft and I came up with a plan to stop him and save my life when we realized what he had in store for me. I needed Molly's help and being the wonderful friend she is, she willingly obliged."

"Is that when you began to like her?"

"Yes, now don't interrupt Amy. I needed her help to fake my death as I told you once before. I called Moriarty to the roof of St. Bart's and once up there, we said some things which I will not bore you with, and he told me that if I didn't jump off of the roof and kill myself, he would have snipers shoot John, Lestrade, and Mrs. Hudson. Of course, I had expected this and had Molly and Mycroft set up an air bag below for me to fall onto. I tried to get out of it by telling him that there was a way out for me since he could still call off the snipers. He realized this, and did something unexpected. He shot himself. This meant I had to jump. So, I said my goodbyes to John and jumped. I tricked him into believing I was dead for two years while I tore down Moriarty's network. It killed me; believe me, to cause him that much anguish, but it was necessary. Anyways, we believed him dead until maybe eight or nine months ago when he appeared on every screen in London, saying 'Did you miss me?'"

"How did he survive?"

"No idea, but he did. Like I said, Moran works for him and the day we met you, we were chasing him, hoping to catch him and extract some information from him."

"Sorry I let him get away," I apologized.

"I'm not…otherwise I wouldn't have met you." He smiled. "Obviously, Moriarty isn't happy about me not being dead, and wants to hurt me. I am worried about Molly. She dated him at one point, and he never expected her to be close to me."

"Closer than he imagines," I giggled and winked earning an eye roll.

We had finished eating long ago and when we finished talking, Sherlock gathered the dished to take downstairs. After pulling on pajamas, I followed him and we got ready for bed. My nightmares were so bad, I was sleeping with him every night so that he could help me when I woke up crying and completely freaked out. Some nights he didn't sleep, and neither did I. We would just lay awake with our thoughts and stare at the ceiling in the dark.

We went in his room and he went to go lock the door and shut everything down, leaving me alone. I ran to his dresser and pulled out a shirt, slipping it on and laughing. This one, like the last, was far too large on me, but I loved it. I climbed in bed and turned off my light. He entered a moment later and climbed in on his side. That night I pondered over the things he had told me about Moriarty. When I fell asleep, visions of twisted fairytales, falling Sherlocks, and grieving Johns danced in my head. Not the sweetest dreams, I know, but at least I managed to sleep even only if it was just a bit. I needed it for the big day ahead.


	14. Chapter 14

**Hey guys, so it has been a really long time since I have updated, I know. I am very sorry. I got a new computer and had trouble getting Word for it. Then, I started another story I had an idea for and was working on that. Anyways, thank you all so much for your support for my story! Please review and let me know what you think of this chapter.**

"In God's name, turn that infernal thing off!" groaned Sherlock before slamming a pillow on me. He was referring to the alarm I had set on my phone so that I would get up in time for school. I shrugged out from under the pillow and clicked the button to make the alarm stop. "Thank you," he sighed and placed his hands folded over his chest. "Why did you put that alarm on anyways?" he asked, looking at me from one open eye.

"Um, I have to get up and go to school," I answered. That could have been that stupidest question Sherlock Holmes had ever asked anybody.

"No you don't," he said matter-of-factly, and closed the one open eye.

"Since when?"

"I told you this much last night."

"No you didn't," I said confusedly.

"Didn't I? Hm you must not have been in the room. John says I do that, although I never believed him.

"What will Mycroft say?"

"Oh, I am quite sure that he will understand. He quite likes you Amy, and he won't make you do anything that will upset you. And," he added, "If he does, he will answer to me."

That sounded really nice as I did not want to have to face school all over again. "Are you sure?" I questioned.

"Quite. Now, Lestrade just texted me, there has been another murder. Would you like to come to work with me today? Not just to the morgue and the Yard, but actual, around the city work?"

"Wait…are you serious?" I was beginning to get excited.

"Amy, you should know by now that I do not joke around with you. Now would you like to come, because if not I will have to see if Mrs. Hudson could look after you."

"Of course! Thank you so much Sherlock!" he was standing up and grabbing his phone, and I ran to him and hugged him. This was great, not only did I get to ditch school, but I got to go with Sherlock on a case! He patted my head and shrugged out of my head to type something on his phone.

"Now, go throw some clothes on, we don't have time for showers and breakfast. You have five minutes." I took off upstairs and got dressed in my usual jeans, converse, and long sleeve. I didn't even bother brushing my hair and just pulled it up out of my face. As per the usual however, several strands fell out here and there, but I didn't even bother to pin them down. I raced down to the bathroom past Sherlock who was already ready and waiting.

"Hurry up," he grumbled. I used the bathroom and brushed my teeth quickly and came back out to Sherlock walking out the door I followed him downstairs and into a cab. Our first stop was to the morgue to check the body, then we would go to her house were Lestrade was collecting evidence. John said he would meet up with Lestrade and be waiting for us at the woman's apartment.

OoOoOoOoOoO

The woman's house was in fact quite small, being a one bedroom, one batch apartment. I think the total square footage was under 1000. Anyways, she was in a bathtub when she was murdered, so needless to say, there was barely enough room for Sherlock and John in the bathroom to examine the scene, so Lestrade and I waited in the living room. Lestrade had already seen everything and Sherlock needed to see it more than I did.

There was a team looking around the apartment and gathering evidence, and snapping photographs. Lestrade was holding a plastic bag that held a piece of paper with a four on it. This meant three to go, if Sherlock couldn't catch Moriarty first.

Sherlock and John finally exited the bathroom since Sherlock was claustrophobic in the small space, so I snuck in to have a look around. Most of the people had left leaving Sherlock, John, Lestrade and two other men besides myself, so I was pretty alone in the bathroom. It seemed completely normal other than dried blood all over the place. I sat warily on the closed toilet lid and looked around. Sherlock said the girl was cut, not enough to immediately kill her, and she had climbed out of the bath then died on the floor. Apparently she attempted to stop the bleeding with a towel which I had seen in a plastic bag similar to the one holding the note, only bigger, but it was to no avail, obviously since she was in Bart's morgue.

_Why didn't she call an ambulance? Most girls take their phones with them when they take a bath, don't they?_ Then again, I wasn't like most girls so I had really no idea what I was taking about. Then I saw it. Written above the mirror in blood, were the words, "Hurry up Sherly, 7 down, 3 to go." I gulped and saw out of the corner of my eye, Sherlock standing at the door, staring up at the words.

"I know who he is going to kill next."

I looked at him incredulously. "How in the world do you know that?"

"I just know. I have called Mycroft to make arrangements for this person, and old friend of mine, Janine, to be safe. And when I say friend, it's complicated so don't ask. Now off to visit the body."

"You mean off to visit Molly," I grinned.

OoOoOoO

"Emily Worthington, 18 years old, cause of death, blood loss from cut on the throat." Molly was reading aloud from her clipboard as Sherlock inspected the body. He muttered this and that to himself and I studied him as he went into the "consulting detective" trance.

He stood straight up suddenly. "Amy, Molly, look at this scar. I wouldn't have noticed it as the cut covers most of it, but it goes all the way around her neck."

"Wait, are you saying she is a suicide attempt survivor?" I asked in disbelief.

"Yes, although it is very faded so it was probably a while ago."

Molly marked something own on her clipboard and zipped the bag back up when Sherlock had finished.

"It might not have anything to do with why Moriarty targeted her, but still interesting." He closed the magnifying glass and stepped back. His phone beeped and he texted a reply quickly and slid both the phone and magnifying glass in his pocket.

We left Bart's and made our way over to the Yard where John was waiting for us. Sherlock had to look at some files that Lestrade had and go over his findings from the morgue. I waited patiently in Lestrade's office, swiveling in his chair and playing with a paper clip, but soon I felt the urge to use the restroom, so I walked around for a bit to find the ladies room.

When I opened the door, I was greeted with the sight of a woman sitting on the counter, legs wrapped around the man standing before her who was fondling her through her shirt and running her hands through his hair as they passionately made out. They didn't even notice that I had walked in and so stood there a bit flabbergasted and at a loss of what to do, I mean I really had to pee but these two yahoos over her were going at it like monkeys and I was really not in the mood to see anything more than what I saw now.

The woman must have caught sight of me, because she pulled away from him and sat back and raised an eyebrow at me. Her lips were swollen and red. The man wiped his mouth and hurried out of the bathroom avoiding making eye contact with me. The woman however just smiled and hopped down off the counter. Straightening her messed up clothes as she did so.

I went to move past her and get in a stall so this wasn't so awkward, but she stepped in my way effectively blocking me. He hand was on her hip and her lips ere pursed as she looked at me before speaking, "Hello there, I don't believe we have met yet, have we Amy? I'm Sally, Sally Donovan," _So this is Donovan, the poor soul who Sherlock has fifteen ways to murder her planned out._ she held out her hand and I shook it, firmly. My mom always said she admired people with a firm handshake and ever since then, I have made it a point to have a firm handshake.

"Hi, how did you know I'm Amy?"

"While the freak was freaking out looking for you, he had a picture he was showing everybody in case we needed to print out lost posters. You know, he has never freaked out like that before. You must be pretty special."

"Thanks," I said a bit warily. "What picture does he have of me? I have never posed for on or anything."

"It was one of you and Watson's baby when she was born. Cute kid."

"Yeah, she is. Um, if you'll excuse me," I tried to sidestep he again, this time successfully. She smiled a fake smiled and turned heel to stalk out of the bathroom.

At the door she turned and waved, "Nice to meet you Amy." I waved to and hurried into the stall.

OoOoOoO

We drove around town, talking to this person and that person, all who were part of Sherlock's homeless network but as much as he hated to admit it, he had no leads on Moriarty besides his old friend. Finally, back at Baker Street again, I could take my shower, and I will tell you, it was long and as hot as the fiery pits of Mount Doom! When I got out, a text from Will was waiting on my phone.

"Dinner tonight at 6:00, Notes Café. Be there :)"

Well, I was for sure going, the hard part was going to be telling Sherlock, and I had two choices in the matter. One, I could just sneak out, or two, I could grow a pair and tell him. Knowing Sherlock, he would figure it out, so it would probably be best just to come clean. I checked the time seeing it was already 5:15, so I had better hurry.

I went downstairs and found Sherlock at his microscope looking at blood samples. When I explained m situation, I was surprised to find out how calmly he was reacting to the whole thing. He said, "Amy, I don't like it, but I am not your parent and you are old enough to decide for yourself if you should go or not, you will be sixteen next week after all."

"How did you know that?"

"Mycroft. Now, please be safe and answer my texts ok?"

"I will, I promise! Thank you Sherlock!" I ran upstairs and got ready, then was soon in a cab with Sherlock on the way to the place that Will had selected. Sherlock didn't trust cabbies and insisted on coming with me. Will would take me back home, so I didn't need him to ride home with me too. We said goodbye and I went into the restaurant where Will was already sitting at a table.

He had ordered us waters when I sat down. We talked and talked, and ate some damn amazing food! Our way back home was the interesting part of the night however. We took a cab to Euston Square, and walked back the rest of the way since it was such a nice night outside although it was very cold. We were passing an alley way when he grabbed my wrist and pulled me into it.

"Amy, has anyone told you what a hot body you have?" he asked, as he pulled me closer to him.

"Um, no they haven't." I was uncomfortable and tried to pull away, but he was stronger and had me pushed up against a brick wall. He kissed me then, hard. I gasped for a breath and he took this as his cue and shoved his tongue into my mouth. He was grinding against me and pulled both of my arms behind my back and pinned between the wall and I in a very uncomfortable manner that rendered me trapped.

With his other hand, he began grabbing my breasts and butt, alternating between the two. I was crying now, but that didn't affect him at all. I was just about to scream when someone slammed into him, tackling him to the ground. I slumped down to the ground and got up to see a ragged man punching Will._ Great, I almost just got date raped and now we are being mugged. Isn't this just a peachy night._ I was just about to go pull the man off of Will when a black car pulled up alongside the alley and two big men with guns got out. Mycroft's voice sounded, "Adam Crouch please remove yourself from William Butler."

The homeless man, who was named Adam I suppose, took on last hit across Will's cheek and stood up, brushed himself off and left. The two large men pulled a bloodied teenager up from the ground and pulled him into the car from which Mycroft stepped out. He walked over to me and handed me a tissue to wipe my tears. "Are you all right Amy?" he asked. I nodded and got followed Mycroft into a second car which pulled up almost as soon as the one containing Will left. Good Lord, did this man have a freaking car factory or something?

"Thank you Mycroft, I, I would hate to think what would have happened if you didn't show up."

"Well technically Sherlock's man got to you first, but you are welcome. Now, I can assure you that William Butler will be going to have a life of community service and jail time."

I laughed because I was quite sure that Mycroft would probably add a few things to his record that weren't necessarily true in order to accomplish this. Sherlock was furious to say the least, and since we didn't want Will dead, just punished, Sherlock was never allowed to see him. He made sure that I was ok, and even called John to come examine me.

John found it amusing that Sherlock didn't believe him that I was ok, although he was pretty angry as well. However, I could tell that I was pretty well looked after and I would always be safe. Or so I thought. All this would change very soon however, because there are some people that even Mycroft Holmes and Sherlock's homeless network could not stop.

_**So sorry it took forever to get this up, it was literally write a paragraph get distracted and close the computer and forget to work on it for five days….so yeah sorry about that. So I have decided I hate the summary for this story so if any of you wonderful people want to help me come up with one, I will be forever indebted. Thank you so much for taking time out of your lives to read this, it means more to me than I can absolutely imagine. I love you all and am here if you ever need to talk" .**_


	15. Chapter 15

"John has been shot in the leg," Mary's worried voice sounded over the other end of the phone.

"Oh my gosh, is he ok? What about Sherlock is he hurt?" I asked frantically.

"Sherlock is fine, and the bullet only grazed John's calf, but he is still going to the emergency room. Would you please take care of Violet while I go to the hospital?"

"Oh, of course! Is there anything else you need me to do?"

"No, just watch Violet carefully please. This is my first time leaving her and I don't want to do it, but John needs me." Mary replied. I heard her grab a cab and then she said quickly, "I'll be over in five or so, thanks Amy," before she hung up.

I paced up and down the kitchen, ignoring the steaming cup of tea that I had been sipping on while reading the newspaper before Mary called. Sherlock and John just went out on a short case, a bank robbery, to distract him from the Moriarty case. It was just like any other day. How could this have happened? I was starting to freak out and glanced longingly upstairs. My blade was sitting there and it would calm me down. _No, you have to stay strong. Stay strong for baby Violet. She needs you, she is coming over and she needs you. Her daddy has been hurt and her mummy has to leave her._

I went to the sink and ran my hands under freezing cold water. Sherlock had told me that this would help calm down panic attacks when I felt them coming on. The water was cold and I splashed some o my face and the back of my neck as well. _That was better._ I sat at the table and took a long swig of my tea, burning my mouth in the process and tried to focus on reading the paper again. Even though it made no sense to me, it focused my brain for the most part.

After what seemed like hours, a knock sounded at the door. I just about sprinted to the door and threw it open to reveal a frazzled Mary with tear streaked cheeks, a diaper bag slung over her shoulder, and a baby car seat containing a sleeping Violet in the crook of her elbow. She set down the car seat and practically knocked me over with a hug before she started blubbering again. I squeezed her tight.

"These pregnancy hormones are seriously doing nothing for me," she sniveled.

"I know Mary, I'm sorry. John needs you though, so you need to go to him, ok?" She nodded and wiped her cheeks, then threw herself at the car seat to kiss Violet on her forehead.

"Mummy will be back soon, Vi, and daddy will be ok. I promise. I love you so much my little girl." She stood up and hugged me again. "Take good care of my baby girl."

"I promise." I whispered.

Mary left and the door shutting woke up Violet who began crying, so I picked her up out of her car seat and began rocking her back and forth. She grabbed little handfuls of my hair and tugged on it. "Ouch! Violet," I tried pulling my hair back, only making her cry harder. _Great._ "Ummm, are you hungry?" I grabbed her bottle and tried giving it to her out he didn't want it.

I sighed and slunk down into John's chair exasperated. She smelled fine, so she didn't need a diaper change, she wasn't hungry, I didn't know what else to do. I could ask Mrs. Hudson I suppose. I picked up the screaming child and began to carry her downstairs to Mrs. Hudson's flat. There was a note taped to the door saying 'Out getting some groceries for Amy and Sherlock. They have no food and that poor child is going to starve'. _Shit, who else is going to help me._ I went back up to our flat and while holding Violet with one hand, reheated my tea with the other.

I really had to go to the bathroom so I placed Violet back in her car seat and made my way to the bathroom. While I was in there I checked my texts, and saw I had a new one from Sherlock. It said,

'New murder. Couldn't get there fast enough. My old girlfriend Janine and her twin brother. Stay inside and stay safe. One to go.

-SH'

I was washing my hands when I realized that the crying and screaming had stopped. _Thank God!_ I stepped out of the bathroom and into the kitchen and saw a dark figure wearing a suit standing in the corner. He turned around and looked at me smiling. In his arms which he was rocking back and forth was a now cooing Violet. I lunged forward to try to get her but was grabbed by a pair of strong arms and a gun was held underneath my chin.

"Hello my dear Amy, I don't believe we have met. I know you have met Sebastian here," he said in an Irish accent as he gestured to the man holding me I place who grunted. He smelled like cigarettes and peppermint, an interesting combination.

"Yes I have met Sebastian, but who are you?" I asked finally. Although I was trying to be brave, my voice sounded very meek and timid and was wavering as I spoke.

"I am a very old friend of Sherly's you see."

"What is your name?" Although I was terrified, I was growing impatient.

He grinned maliciously and shifted Violet before looking me straight in the eyes and saying coldly, "My name is James Moriarty."

OoOoOoOoO

**Hey everyone, I honestly don't know how I ended up here, I thought I was going in a totally different direction, but here I am. Thank you all so much for following/favoriting/reviewing this story. It feels so good to know that people like this story. If you have any ideas for the story, or if you have ideas for another story let me know. Please review this chapter, and sorry it was much shorter than usual. Happy Easter everybody! Love you all and God Bless!**


	16. Chapter 16

The drugs were beginning to wear off and I was waking up in a freezing cold and damp room. The bed I was laying on was a small twin sized bed covered with a thin quilt which I was curled under. I sat up quickly and looked around to take everything in. The room was small, but big enough for my bed and a baby crib. _Why is there a baby cr…..oh my gosh, VIOLET!_

I sprang out of the bed and ran to look in the crib. She wasn't in there, but the blanket from her car seat as well as her stuffed hippo. The car seat was sitting next to the crib but she wasn't in there either. My phone had been removed from my pocket when I went for it and so I sunk back down on the bed in defeat. There was something sticky under my sleeve and when I pulled it up my cuts were irritated and bleeding. I must have been self-consciously scratching them….I tend to do that when I'm nervous.

When I went to pull the sleeve back down I noticed the shakiness of my hand. _No, no please God not here, I have to get out. I have to find Violet before someone hurts her. _I glanced around desperately and noticed the glass of water sitting on the table next to my bed. I made sure it was glass not plastic before I hurled it against the wall. Water went everywhere and the glass shattered. I dove to my knees where it broke and found a suitable piece with a sharp jagged edge.

When I had selected my weapon, I crawled back to the bed, the room beginning to pin. Ever sound was making me jump practically out of my skin. I needed this NOW. I pulled my other sleeve up and leaned my head against the wall and closed my eyes before dragging the piece of glass across my arm, just below my elbow. The familiar tearing feel made me shudder and the blood began to make little drops across the skin. For those few seconds I focused on nothing but the pain, but too soon those seconds were over and I needed it again….so I did.

I jumped when the door opened causing me to slip with the glass and make my steady hand slip and pull the glass down the length of my arm creating a particularly large and painful cut which began bleeding immediately. Two men entered the room and came towards me. One of them wrestled the piece of glass from me and went to clean up the remaining shards and spilled water.

The other man, the smaller of the two, came to me with a first aid kit. I tried to scoot away, but he was firm and held me in place. He cleaned up the blood with a wet cloth, then applied a disinfectant and an antibiotic before bandaging them. He saw the spots of blood on my other arm and pulled that sleeve up. These cuts weren't as bad, just mostly inflamed. He cleaned the blood and poured disinfectant on them. These ones stung more than the others ironically enough. I'm sure it's because the entire arm is sort of numb. He handed me a tank top and left the room silently followed by the other man. The entire time I had not said one word to them.

I looked at the tank top in disgust. I wasn't going to wear this. Then I looked back down to m sticky sleeve which was now soaked with disinfectant as well. _Well, at least it's dry…right? _I pulled off the shirt I was wearing currently, wincing when it rubbed against all of the cuts and threw it across the room where it hit the door with a faint thud. The new shirt was black and made of a really soft material. When I put it on I shivered and looked down. Every ark on my arms was visible to everyone's eyes now.

A knock at the door sounded and I frowned. "Go away!" I yelled.

"Well that's no way to treat your host," Moriarty said in a high voice as entered the room followed by Sebastian who was holding Violet in his arms.

"Violet!" I jumped up and tried to get to her but was restrained by Moriarty who was surprisingly strong.

"Now, now Amy. Have some patience." He snapped his fingers and yet another man ran in carrying a new cup with water (this one was plastic) and a bottle of pills. He handed them to Moriarty who had pulled me towards the bad and sat down next to me. Moriarty in turn handed the cup to me and began opening the bottle. The man had left the room as soon as quickly as he entered. "Here, take these," he said handing me two round, white pills, "it will help with the headache. Sorry about drugging you by the way, but then again not all that sorry."

I looked at the pills in my hand and then shook my head. "No, they're probably poison or something."

Moriarty chuckled, "Amy, I don't want to kill you my dear. However, you a probably not very convinced, so here, Sebastian come here." Sebastian stepped forward and took the pills Moriarty held out to him and swallowed them dry. "See? Now he isn't dying so take your medicine Amy." He stretched my name out in a bone chilling way. I downed the pills followed by a gulp of water.

"May I please see Violet?" I asked. Then I looked at Moriarty straight in the eye and practically begged, "please."

"Oh, I have such a soft heart. What the hell? Seb, let Amy see her little friend." Sebastian stepped forward and handing Violet of to me gently. He looked at Violet tenderly and I could see all over his face that he didn't like that they had kidnapped a baby. I pulled Violet close and began crying as I rocked her back and forth.

"I'm so sorry Violet, I was supposed to take care of you, and this is all my fault. I began to cry harder when Moriarty snapped his fingers again. Sebastian stepped forward and pried the baby girl from my arms causing me to start sobbing and lose it completely. A pair of arms wrapped around me comfortingly and Moriarty pulled me close to him, burying my head on his shoulder. I just cried and cried, tears falling all over his expensive suit. Every time I took a ragged breath, I could smell the cologne he wore and peppermint.

"There, there Amy. It will all be ok I promise. I won't hurt you my dear. I'm so sorry about your mom and I was so pissed off at your father for being a horrible dad to you, I did something about it. You will never have to worry about him bringing you home again." I sat up and looked at him confusedly, wiping away my tears and drying my eyes. Moriarty produced a handkerchief from the coat of his suit which I took gratefully and wiped my face. He picked up my arms and looked at them sadly. "Now Amy, why in the world did you do this to yourself?"

"Why do you care?" I snapped.

He furrowed his eyes and replied somewhat wounded, "I care very much about you Amy. More than Sherlock ever will. He is glad that you are gone. He isn't even at Scotland Yard looking for you! Do you want to see? He pulled his phone out of his pocket and showed me what looked like a live stream from Bart's. Sherlock and Molly were hovering over a microscope together. When he stood up I saw the bandage on his forehead, but that wasn't what bothered me. What bothered me was the huge smile on his face that appeared before he picked up Molly and spun her around. "See Amy? He doesn't have a teenager trailing behind him all the time."

I shook my head unable to fathom what I just witnessed. _Was he right? Did Sherlock really hate me this much? No, we sat up together on nights when we couldn't sleep._ The evidence was staring me right in the face though, and I couldn't deny it. I sunk down in shock. Moriarty hugged me again and this time I returned the hug. "Don't worry Amy, I'm here for you."

OoOoOoOoO

The days passed in my room. Violet was with me most of the time, but sometimes Sebastian would come get her and take her out. I scratched at my cuts when I was upset, but Jim usually go to me to distract me and we would play cards or something. (He insisted on me calling him Jim after the first day together) One time he even brought in a TV and Xbox for us to play together. We had dinner almost every night and I got to choose what we would eat. He kept me content with an endless supply of books to read. I spent three weeks like this in this routine. It was all perfect and I was actually happy. Until one night when I asked too many questions.

OoOoOoOoO

Jim and I were sitting together on my bed playing cards and eating Chinese out of take away boxes. I had already beaten him three times and he was determined to win. We were both wearing pajamas, and I had not worn a long sleeved shirt since my first day. He insisted my arms were beautiful, cuts or not and I was not to cover them up. Violet slept soundly in her crib which I had pulled next to the bed. Out of the blue I asked, "So who was the last murder?"

Jim looked up at me and his face darkened momentarily. Then he smiled, "Why do you ask sweetie?"

"Well, Sherlock had texted me right before you came and got me and said there was one to go…who was it?"

"I hasn't happened yet," he replied matter-of-factly and picked up another card from the deck.

"Well who is it going to be?"

"Ah," he looked up, his face dark and cruel. "This is a good one," he chuckled, "you get to decide who the last murder is." Suddenly, he had knocked the food and cards all over the bed and had grabbed my arm, pulling me behind him and dragging me outside into the cold night air. I had no shoes and was wearing only a tank top as a shirt so I began shivering almost instantly. "Now Amy, here is the game," he handed me a hand gun, "You get to decide. Sherlock or Violet. If you do not go and kill Sherlock, Violet will die. If you kill yourself, they both die. It is all up to you. You have twelve hours. Oh, and don't even think of going to the cops or Mycroft the Iceman," he shivered excitedly, "that will have the same result as killing yourself. Have fun!" He turned to go back inside but hesitated. "Here's a little souvenir of your stay here," he said, throwing me a piece of bloodstained glass. The door slammed shut and I was left so utterly alone and totally confused.

**Wow, ok, that didn't turn out so well for Amy. Thank you guys again for reading, and I hope I'm keeping you interested. Thank you A-D-E-E-R for your review, you gave me a great laugh! Please follow/favorite/review and let me know what you think. Sorry for the cliffhangers I keep leaving you on. I hope this chapter made sense. I was going to have Moriarty interrogate her but I had a feeling this would have a better effect and give me the hurt I was wanting Amy to have. Thanks everybody! Love you guys!**


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